Star Destroyer
by snicholaspalma
Summary: Peter Pan lives amongst his clan of lost boys, children rescued from the ship captained by James Hook, Peter's nemesis. Together, Peter and his lost boys have battled the pirates aboard the jolly roger along with the natives of The Neverland. One night, while chasing his shadow, Peter meets Wendy Darling and takes her to The Neverland. Time is against Peter, as well as James Hook.
1. Chasing Shadows

CHASING SHADOWS

"Nathaniel Quinn! I promise if you're not in bed in five seconds, I'll go open that window and make sure it stays that way all night long!"

Nathan didn't need telling twice. He dropped his train set at once, turned off the lights, and jumped in bed, quietly trembling. He knew better than to gamble with this threat from his mother. Calling her bluff might mean it could very well be the last time he ever sees her, or his train set, or his bed. For every child knows that an open window is nothing less than a cheerful invite to the one who steals children in the night, who sells them off to the band of murderous men aboard the Jolly Roger. The one called Peter Pan. Several minutes passed until Mrs. Quinn quietly opened Nathan's bedroom door to check on her son, and found him sobbing into his little pillows.

"Oh, Nathan, you know I didn't mean it." She approached his bed and touched his forehead gently.

"Mother, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, please don't let him come!" Young Nathaniel was drowning in his own tears. "I promise I'll be good! I'll listen! Just don't let him take me! Don't let him sell me to the pirates!"

Mrs. Quinn's expression said it all. She knew the way he was feeling, for she too, as a young girl, was told the awful tales of a the boy who stole bad children away from their homes to sell to the murderous pirates as a slaves.

"Sleep, child. You are safe." She said as she stroked her terrified son's hair. This seemed to calm him, and within minutes he was snoring. She tucked Nathaniel in tightly and kissed his rosy cheek, still warm from the excitement and wet from his tears. Mrs. Quinn took a few steps toward her son's bedroom window and turned the tiny metal latch. The creak of the window was quite loud, but she knew Nathan would not wake up. The cool air brushed by her face like a soft kiss. It was a clear night, with no cars or any pedestrians wandering the dimly lit streets beneath her. Several small clouds scattered quickly across a low hanging moon, while thousands of little stars blinked happily down at her. After admiring the scene for several more minutes, she closed the window and stepped out of her son's bedroom, forgetting about the latch.

A quiet gust picked up slightly outside, causing the unlocked window to shake. If anybody in the room was awake, and paying attention to the moonlight reflected across Nathaniel's floor, they'd find the silhouette of a young boy, no older than twelve, lying across it. The silhouette appeared very curious of its current dwelling, taking in all it could from the perspective of a cold wood floor.

The window trembled slightly once more, and opened up to a boy whose skinny frame granted him easy access through the window, as he climbed through quietly as so not to disturb any sleeping souls. Analyzing every corner of the room with his dark, emerald eyes, the boy appeared to be looking for something, or rather—someone. Standing in front of the window, his messy locks of dirty blond hair grew even fainter in the moonlight. Suddenly, red and yellow sparks grew in the boy's eyes as bright as sparklers. The silhouette lying across the moonlit floor took note of this, and quickly vanished under Nathaniel's bed, just before the strange boy could reach out and grab at it.

He then drew out a small dagger, and lifted Nathaniel's bed sheets that were dangling off the side, obscuring the view under it. Pitch blackness. It was impossible to see anything underneath without a source of light. The boy then reached to the other side of his belt, withdrawing a bit of what looked like glow in the dark sand, and blew it all over the floor underneath the bed. The silhouette was immediately identified, as the glow precipitated out from under the bed and onto the walls of the bedroom. The boy reached for it's ankle, and wrestled quietly with the shadow, but could not grab a firm grip on it. The shadow abandoned the room and flew out through the window, knocking over several stuffed animals and a photograph of Nathaniel's Father.

At this action, the boy with the firework eyes followed suit and chased his shadow, rousing the bed and causing Nathaniel to wake up. He could not believe, however, that he was even awake. For here was the boy who haunted his nightmares, standing right in front of him. For a long moment, Nathaniel could not breathe.

The strange boy gazed deeply back at him, and spoke softly, with a cocky smirk, "I'll be back! You'll fetch me a fair price!"

And at these words, the boy leaped into the air and flew out the window quick as lightning. Nathaniel lay sitting in his bed for several moments, his hear pounding rigorously inside his tiny ribcage. Finally, he hoarded enough oxygen in his lungs to scream out to the one person he desired most.

_"Mummy! Mummy!"_


	2. The Open Window

THE OPEN WINDOW

His laughter could be heard by the neighboring townhouses, planted neatly in between the winding streets of Manchester, England. The boy who never grew up flew alongside his companion and best friend, the pixie known as Tinkerbelle, enjoying the cool midnight air, scanning any possible hiding spots for a rogue shadow who loved to escape his bond. Perhaps if your shadow had ever decided upon itself to leave your midst, you might feel a bit slighted or put out by it. But Peter, arrogant and hardly ever displeased with himself, took it as a compliment.

_"After all, Tink,"_ He explained, laughing as he somersaulted over a heavy patch of swirled clouds, _"having to live in the shadow of my legendary greatness can't be an easy thing to do!" _

The pixie's vivid light could give the slumbering moon a run for its money, as she danced happily in the breeze in agreement with Peter. His thick, sun-bleached hair danced with Tinkerbelle as he nose-dived towards a window located on the second story of the cozy town home, No. 27.

Peter quietly planted his feet just above the window awning, and lurched where two gargoyles, perched on either side of the window, stood guard with funny expressions carved into their faces. Tinkerbelle laughed heartily as the boy mocked the two faces for her, doing his best impression of a slow and foul gargoyle. Suddenly, Peter heard a loud crash come from just inside the room near the window.

"Avast ye, Matey!" Cried a voice. More clashes, and a second older voice called, "Dark and sinister man, _have at thee!_"

Alarmed, Peter drew a small dagger from his belt as Tinkerbelle, a bow gripped tightly as she raised an arrow to it, looked on from his shoulder. With the stealth of a wild cat scaling down a tall tree, he crawled around to the left side of the window sill, and dived under it without detection, preparing for a strike. The awning creased awkwardly so that it impaired Peter's view into the room, which was dimly lit.

"Curl around and look inside, will you?" Peter whispered to Tinkerbelle. "Be careful. We don't know who this is, yet."

More clashes and excitement occurred, and Peter, yearning to partake in the fight like a child forbid of desert, shook the Pixie off his shoulder. Gripping her own tiny dagger tight, Tinkerbelle swooped under the window, leaving a trail of glowing dust in her leave. Inside the room, she saw two small beds resting side-by-side with beautiful hand carved frames. The letter _M_ was etched into the bed where a little teddy bear rested, and a _J_ into the bed frame next to it. Several model airplanes hung from the ceilings. The floor was littered with many toys; some broken and others just recently discarded. To her surprise, the voices from only seconds ago could not be traced to anyone in the room. There wasn't a soul in sight. She looked over her shoulder at Peter, whose bright eyes encouraged her to try and impress him. She muscled up enough courage to stand up on the lip of the window, completely venerable to any hidden enemies inside the room. To her delight, Peter flinch.

"_Tink!" _He hissed, _"Be careful!" _She gave Peter an arrogant smile, drenched in superiority, similar to the type she was so used to seeing across his face. Peter warmed up with laughter, and quietly, he ventured down to the window ledge where she stood. "Think we ought to have a look, then?"

Peter nose dived into the room with his hand closed tightly on a sword with a solid gold blade, latched into his belt. Together, he and Tinkerbelle found the perfect hiding spot next to the twin beds. A large pile of clothes, yet to be folded and put away by the dwellers posed as an excellent hiding spot. Peter hunted for the source of the fight from earlier, but like Tinkerbelle, he saw that the room held nobody else. She flew quietly to Peter, landing like a small breeze on the top of his head.

Peter stood up straight to get a better look around the place. Along the wall, he saw photographs of what looked to be a family of five. He walked quietly to the largest photo in the middle of the wall, entranced by the girl in the picture standing in between two younger boys.

"Tink, who is she?" The voice coming from inside of Peter was unrecognizable. It was weary, it was unsure of itself, like it came from a naive child, wanting badly to know the secrets of the world, where the evidence of a truth forbidden to him had suddenly revealed itself. He gazed longingly at the girl for many seconds. Her long dark hair fell to a place just below her elbows, and her eyes looked like the sweetest color of honey. She beamed at Peter from the photograph, holding onto the littlest boy in the photo, who clutched tightly to the stuffed bear planted on the bed with the _"M"_ carved into it.

Peter was so transfixed on the photo, that he didn't even realize Tinkerbelle's desperate attempts to get his attention. She had heard several footsteps running up the hall beside the door, and reluctant as she was to do it, she took her dagger and stuck Peter in the finger with it.

_"Ouch! Tink!"_ The footsteps hushed instantly, and Peter noticed the abrupt pause. He grabbed Tinkerbelle and hid under one of the beds, pulling out the sword from his side. The footsteps proceeded into the room, but much slower and twice as cautious. From Peter's vantage point, he saw two pairs of clean, bare feet.

"Did you hear someone in here, Michael?" Asked the oldest brother. He approached his bed carefully, analyzing every corner of the room for the slightest disturbance. Young Michael, feeling afraid at the moment, ran quickly to his brother's side. John, being the older and braver of the two, did his best to claim his father's deep voice and call out, "Show yourself. Who is here?"

Peter, unaware the voice came not from a man, but a boy, turned his head to smile at Tink, and spoke to her in his quietest whisper, _"one…" _Tink readied herself, knowing what was to come. _"Two…" _Peter clutched the sword tightly, and Tinkerbelle crouched on his shoulder, waiting to strike.

"_THREE!"_

An explosion of light, and the force of Peter's presence caused the two boys to fly back into the wall. Little Michael made a dive for his Bear, while John landed several feet away from where he previously stood, hitting a dresser with his lower back, causing him to groan in pain. As with any ambush involving Peter and Tinkerbelle, she seized the smallest enemy, while he took care of the strongest. This meant that while she pulled Theodore away from Michael, Peter wielded the gold blade, glistening with paralyzing poisons, inches from the neck of a terrified John. Perhaps the most important thing to note, other than the excitement in Peter, was the remarkable bravery John showed after his capture.

"Leave my brother! Kill me, but don't hurt Michael!" spoke John, wearing a look his Father would have been proud to see. He talked in a hushed voice, hoping his family downstairs wouldn't come wondering what all the noise was, and putting themselves in danger. Peter didn't need to look back, he knew Tinkerbelle had done her job. She now held Michael several inches above the floor by his shirt. He struggled to wiggle free, but her strength was too formidable. As happy as he was with himself for this victory, Peter was surprised to find himself holding onto the collar of a young boy, and not the buccaneer he had heard earlier. But Peter was also very clever. He wouldn't allow himself to believe a word of John's plea. Perhaps he must have known Peter honored bravery, and this was just a scheme to get Peter to lower his guard.

"Where are you hiding your pirates?" He asked, staring straight into John's eyes. John could not help but feel quite helpless. Peter was much stronger than him, and the lights in his eyes glowed maliciously. He had never seen eyes like this before in his life.

"We harbor no pirates here, sir, I can assure you. What you might have heard earlier-"

"I heard men." Peter interrupted.

"Yes, well that was me and my brother, Michael. It was only pretend."

Peter was unsure of what that meant. He mouthed the word, thinking in his mind that he knew he'd heard it before.

"What is _pre-tend_?" He asked, still clutching tightly to John's collar. John thought for a second that he was joking, so he did not know how to answer at first, but the expression on Peter's face was not of humor or malice, but of intrigued curiosity, and John decided this was a truthful question. He began to explain, "Pretend is when…well, you don't _mean _what you're doing. It is all fun and games. You can pretend to kill your younger brother, who is pretending to die. It is make-believe."

Peter thought about this for a moment. "I do not understand. You pretend to kill? Where is the satisfaction?"

"Satisfaction?" John asked. "From…killing?"

"Well, there is much satisfaction. Imagine thrusting your blade into a man who has killed your best comrade!" Peter leapt into the air and began to fence with an imaginary enemy in the middle of the room, quite skillfully in fact. After he finished, he looked at John who still wore the same look from before.

"I don't kill, sir. It's all just make believe. Michael pretended to be a pirate, because it was my turn to be…" John didn't know how to finish this sentence. Peter waited, but impatiently shook John after a moment. "Well? Who?"

"You. It was my turn to be you. "

Peter released John, backpedaling. "You want to _be me_, do you? Think you have what it takes?" Peter's chest swelled, as the light in his eyes swam in the green.

"No sir, it's only make believe, remember? Me and my brother, we are huge admirers, and our sister, she is who tells us the stories, she might even be your greatest admirer!"

Breathing heavily, Peter seemed satisfied with this, or perhaps he decided to instantly forget the conversation all together. He gave Tinkerbelle the sign to release Micheal, who dropped on his rump to the floor. He scurried over to his bed and grabbed Theodore, then dashed to his older brother who embraced him, holding him tightly.

"Are you going to kill us?" Michael asked. John looked down at his brother, wide-eyed. He could hit him for inviting this thought into this imbalanced boy. Peter considered them for several moments, then turned back to the photo. "The girl in the picture. Is she who knows the stories?"

Simultaneously, the two of them spoke, "Wendy?" Peter repeated to himself, "Wendy."

There was something peculiar in Peter's words that John did not quite understand, but he became afraid again. He knew of the original legend of Peter Pan, he knew of the stories of the boy who never grew up, and how he made an accord with the Pirates in the Neverland. He knew the talks of how he steals children in the night to make them work as slaves aboard the Jolly Roger. Though he knew these stories, Wendy swayed his opinion of Peter Pan over the years to something more heroic, and he believed her. But now, standing in front of the myth, John's confidence wavered. It is one thing to make believe a story, but another to face it for the first time in real life.

"You cannot take her," John reached for a sharp plastic sword near his foot and held it to Peter. He knew this was a mistake almost immediately. Quicker than he could see it happen, quick flashes of gold split the toy in half. "I can't take her, huh?" Peter mocked. "And who are you to stop me?"

John glared at Peter, and saw the small red and yellow spots like fireworks exploding in the sea of his emerald eyes. Then, raising himself to full height, John spoke, "My name is Jonathan Darling, sir and you will not take our sister. If the legend is true, and your origin of coming here is to capture and sell her off to your pirates, then you must kill us first." John then reached into the drawer behind him, and pulled out a sharp pair of scissors Wendy used when making their pirate clothes. Michael was too scared to move.

Tinkerbelle pulled out her bow and arrow, steadied it and aimed at John's heart. He braced himself as his little brother held onto his leg so tightly it felt like the blood was being cut off from the rest of his body. Peter did not raise his sword, nor did he give Tink his blessing to release her arrow. He took a step towards John, with a look of admiration.

"I admire courage. You and your brother would be good additions to my tribe."

John continued to stare unblinkingly at Peter. He was shocked to still be alive, and felt the heart in his chest beat with new determination. Michael let go of his leg and watched Peter walk back over to the window with Tinkerbelle floating silently beside him. And before Peter set out into the star filled sky, it appeared as if he was about to speak to the two brothers in the dimly lit room. But his voice seemed to betray him, and as quick as the wind, Peter and Tinkerbelle were gone.


	3. Bedtime Stories

BEDTIME STORIES

Wendy Darling, unaware of all of the excitement happening upstairs, was down in the family room enduring an ireful talk from her father who, unlike his wife, was opposed to his children's wild imaginations.

"Wendy, this must stop." George Darling worked for First National, one of the largest and most prestige banks in Manchester as a teller where, unfortunately, he's been for over five years. One reason for his inability to make advancements at his bank could be attributed to his introvert personality. Mr. Darling is a man who enjoys a quiet life with his family, and does not truly appreciate excitement or obscurities. He dreads conversations with strangers and men he recognizes as superiors. Mr. Bayless, for example, was the manager of the Bank and George's most immediate superior. He's a plump and giddy man who enjoys small talk. The trouble for George is, however, that he has a serious problem engaging in small talk, often stuttering out of simple nervous habit.

"We cannot have this sort of nonsense filling their young heads. You're old enough to know that it's not good for the boys, hearing these_ stories_," Said Mr. Darling, making sure to annunciate the last word with deep loathing.

"I'm s-sorry, Father," Said Wendy, trying her hardest to keep her voice steady while her long beautiful hair hung with her head and tears traitorously swimming in her large brown eyes. Wendy hated to cry in front of her parents, especially her father, who she always longed to please. "It won't h-happen anymore. I p-promise."

"George, the boys really love their sister's writing," Began Mrs. Darling, "Couldn't we just-"

"No, Mary. I must put an end to this." There was a finality in Mr. Darling's deep voice that assured his wife that this conversation was over, and she did not interrupt him again.

"I've had enough of all this obscure and inappropriate talk of Pirates, Trolls, and a boy who flies around like some daffy lunatic. Heavens! Do you want our children to end up homeless? Without decent jobs? Imagination won't pay the bills, Mary!"

Mr. Darling was starting up again with the rage from much earlier in the day, when Wendy brought home a letter from her school instructor regarding her "inattentiveness and wild imagination." Both John and Michael had received letters their instructors only a week prior.

"It's time for you to grow up, Girl." And at this, Mr. Darling stormed out of the room.

"Sweetheart," spoke Mrs. Darling with the kindest voice she could find, "Come here."

Like her daughter, Mrs. Darling was very beautiful. Her fair skin and honey blond hair fell to her shoulders like Wendy's. Her eyes twinkled in the candle light as she embraced her sobbing daughter, and the warmth of her body soothed Wendy.

"W-why is he so mean to me, Mother?" Wendy spoke into Mrs. Darling's shoulder. "Why doesn't he like me?" Mrs. Darling pulled her daughter away to get a clear look into her eyes.

"Your Father loves you, Wendy. _He loves you_. He-"

"Preferred a boy!"

"No, my dear. Oh, you should have seen him. He was so happy when you were born. And things were much different then. Life was a bit easier I should say. We had you, and the world was our oyster. Your father had much higher ambitions in life, so much more than to work at a bank for a bunch of grumpy old fools." Wendy laughed, Mrs. Darling continued, "But sometimes things don't always work out the way you hope they would, child. Your father's stories, as good as they are, were sadly no longer popular, and he took the job at the Bank, and he had to put many dreams on hold to keep us all together. Disappointment, Wendy, is a very painful illness. And you were always his remedy. He did it for you." Mrs. Darling kissed Wendy on the cheek where her tears were the wettest.

Wendy had stopped crying completely now. She understood what her mother was trying to tell her. Her chest hurt from sobbing, and there was lingering guilt in her heart. Perhaps it was time for her to grow up. But what did that mean exactly? Wendy didn't have a clue. She was edging on 13 years old, did fairly well in school, and loved to write just like her father once did. She loved it almost as much as she loved sharing her stories with her younger brothers. Stories that, if not written down, would only exist in Wendy's mind and in her dreams. Stories of the Pygmies who lived in the caves, or the awful dragon and the wizard who conquered it using only a small pebble from a shallow river. But Wendy's favorite story to share with her brother's was the tale of Peter Pan, the boy with the firework eyes, and his adventures with Tinkerbelle in the Neverland.

Wendy grew up with her mother telling her stories of the boy who swept in through the windows of bad children, and took them to an Island where they were sold into slavery. Wendy was fascinated with the story, but not in the terrified manner in which other children took it.

Wendy's opinion of the boy was that he was simply extraordinary. He battled fierce pirates and swam with mermaids. He was leader of the lost boys, and never aged, always remaining quite handsome. What helped form these unique ideas for Wendy were her dreams. Most of the time she wasn't sure they were dreams at all. The rushing wind felt real, the pirates pungent breath and stained blood appeared dangerously absolute. Wendy battled along side with Peter in many dreams, and never did he appear in the way that all parents around the world described him. She chose to believe this fantasy over the lessons taught in the story, and perhaps this was a perfect example of her unwillingness to grow up.

After telling her mother good night, Wendy walked up the stairs to the nursery to tuck her brothers in and kiss them good night, something she's done every night since her mother permitted it. On the way up to the stairs she found a toy peg leg, something Michael loved to wear when battling with John.

Wendy laughed to herself and picked up the peg leg. She carried it with her into the nursery, which seemed quiet enough at the time until the boys, who were both still by the open window, saw Wendy enter.

"WENDY!" Cried John, "Oh Wendy! You were right! You've been right the whole time!" John and Michael were both bouncing in joy as they spoke. Wendy tried to calm them both down. She had no intentions of waking her father again at this late hour.

"We saw him Wendy! Tell her John! Tell her about Peter!" Screamed Michael.

"Both of you, please be quiet!" Wendy said, causing her two brothers to cease their excitement.

"But," began Michael, "Wendy, _Peter Pan_ was here."

"You were probably both just dreaming, Michael. Or perhaps you just allowed your imagination to get— the better of your logic," Wendy said with a slight pause. She almost couldn't believe these words were coming from her own mouth. That these thoughts surfaced from her own mind and of her own accord. John and Michael stared at Wendy with puzzling looks. Michael spoke to Wendy once more, but there was a new tone in his voice, far different from the enchantment of only a minute ago.

"Wendy, is everything okay?" He was holding tightly onto to Theodore. Over the years, Wendy could recognize that whenever Michael was feeling troubled, he'd clutch onto Theodore extra tight. Once she had to stitch the poor Bear's arm back on after their parents had gotten into a heated argument over their mortgage. Guilt surged into Wendy like a chilling gust. She hated seeing her youngest brother— somebody she loved so much— to feel anxious or scared on her own behalf. Wendy took a deep breath, and summoned up a voice that might have been more fitting in her mother than her, and directed her words to Michael.

"Everything is fine, Michael," Wendy smiled and blinked her honey brown eyes, that were even more beautiful in the moonlight, and Michael smiled back at her. His grip on Theodore loosened.

"We did see Peter, though, Wendy," Said Michael with more earnest this time, "And John defended you. He was quite brave, weren't you John?"

"Oh, yes," Said John airily, "He wanted to take you, Wendy, just you, to the Neverland." Wendy smiled back at John, simply unable to believe another word, defiantly convinced they had shared the same dream.

The three of them went over to the window to look at the night sky. It was late now, far past their bedtime, but it wasn't a school night and Mrs. Darling was sure not to check up on them for a while, for she was always reassured that Wendy would make sure the boys were in bed.

"You must tell me all about him, Michael" Wendy was not convinced that the Boy who lived in her dreams had in fact visited their nursery. She was simply humoring her younger brother who seemed so passionate about telling her every last detail.

"-And then," he concluded finally, "John stepped in and made sure he didn't take you, Wendy!" Michael was now tucked tightly into his little bed with Theodore resting peacefully next to him.

"Oh, thank you, John," Wendy smiled at John, who looked restless in his bed. There seemed to be something he wanted to say to Wendy, but was waiting for Michael to fall asleep first.

Wendy kissed Michael near the top of his right eyebrow, the same place their mother always kisses them whenever she returned from a long trip with their father, or whenever Wendy was sick in bed and could not retain her position as the bedtime storyteller. Michael fell asleep almost immediately, his chest raising and lowering as little snores exited his body.

Wendy went over to John's bedside. She no longer kissed him to sleep, seeing as how he began complaining about it the previous year on his 9th birthday. Wendy said nothing for a moment. She did not look at John, but out at the window. Off in the dark blue distance, out of the many stars salted into the sky, Wendy saw it, though she wasn't sure exactly what it was. A plane, perhaps, though it had shifted it's movement so swiftly that it would have been impossible to be a plane. And next to that, a dark figure, so tiny, but moving with the little bright light next to it. Wendy rubbed her eyes in amazement, her heart pounding fiercely inside her chest.

"You're not making it up, John?" Wendy spoke with a hint of longing. "Did he really come tonight?"

John surveyed his sister for a moment, his arms folded over his head. "Yes. And everything Michael said was true, Wendy." This included the photograph, and the greedy look in Pan's face when looking at Wendy, like she was a treasure he longed to collect. Wendy continued to stare out into the deep blue sky, and the twinkling stars. However often Wendy dreamed that she would be taken on an adventure far away from here, she felt her heartbeat accelerate even more.

"Do you think he will return?" Wendy asked.

John shrugged, "He told us he does not take children, like in the stories. I believed him after. He saw the photo and asked about you."

Wendy was looking at John, unaware of how she felt now, and asked, "And there was a pixie with him? Just like in the stories?"

John nodded. Wendy was lost. How could she have missed this opportunity to find out something genuinely real about a world she so longed to be a part of, but was convinced did not exist? John turned to his side and took off his glasses. He laid down in the bed beside Michael's, who was still snoring.

"Did Father yell at you tonight? For the letter?" John asked. Wendy did not look at him.

"Yes," Said Wendy, "He did."

Anger filled up in John, for as much as he loved his father, he had grown disappointed over the years in his lack of fight.

"Coward."

Wendy looked down at her brother whose eyes had become glossy. "No," Wendy said, "We can't hold onto the past that way. Yes, he no longer writes, but he does it for us. So we could be together, so we don't have to live with Aunt Tessa, far away from them. You understand?"

John said nothing, but continued to stare out the window. Michael stirred in his sleep. His little snores becoming thinner. Wendy was waiting for the moment that usually came minutes after he fell asleep.

"I think he aught to be encouraging you; encouraging your writing, Wendy. You have a gift, and gifts are easily wasted if nobody is there to help them grow."

"Thank you, John, but father has enough on his plate without having to worry about me. I'd be acting selfish if I disobeyed him."

Moments later, Michael woke up. "Wendy," he said with bits of rasp in his high voice, "Wendy, tell us a story. Please, Wendy." Wendy, already prepared for this moment, walked over to Michael's bed, and tucked him in again. Then she spoke in her storytelling voice, which was very much lighter on the evening breeze, carrying itself around the nursery of No. 27, where many stories have been told to a heavy eye-lidded Michael.

The Writer

This story is about a man who lived with his wife and their newborn daughter. They lived very happily together, the three of them, in a small cottage just outside of Bristol. He was a very skilled writer, who possessed the uncanny ability to fabricate fantastic worlds where magic and enchantment could be found thriving in a dark forest or underneath a quiet lake. All of the children in the town would come to hear his stories, while his wife made delicious vanilla cookies and served them with ice cold milk. The man was able to enjoy his life comfortably, because the children were so willing to spend their lunch money at the bookstore for copies of his stories. This remained the way of things for a short while, for the little minds were growing up quickly. Those who so adored his stories as children, were becoming older and far less interested. So many stories in the world, including this man's, absorbed the consequence.

Though as much as he enjoyed to write for the children, publishing was a different beast entirely. Nobody willing to pay wanted to hear stories of mythical creatures triumphing over the power of evil. So the burden of his mortgage and bills began to take a toll on the young family.

Shortly after, they had a second child, and the man was so proud of his new son that he wrote a new series of wonderful tales, but unfortunately those children from earlier years had grown up, and the new children in the town were taught to no longer visit strangers out of fear of kidnapping and other ungodly things. Desperate for any available work, this young gifted writer was forced to take a job not at all suited for him, but he did it to the best of his ability. His determination was his family.

It was his duty to keep them all safe and together, and he accomplished this by sacrificing his happiest past time, in exchange for honest work. He did this, as best he could and with very little complaint. One thing you must remember after this story is long gone, is that there are many different kinds of bravery in this world. There are men, who wield a sword, like Peter Pan, and there are other men who believe in sacrificing what is easy, for what is honest and true, no matter how difficult it may be. This writer put many dreams away for his children.

"Where did he put them?" Asked a curious Michael

Wendy looked over at her younger brother and brushed his soft hair.

"He put them in a drawer," Wendy said, "And sometimes, very late at night when all the lights had gone out, he would take them out, and admire them. But over the years, it became harder and harder for him put them back, and he still did."


	4. Needle and Thread

NEEDLE AND THREAD

Over the next several days, the Darling house was a boiling stew of mixed feelings. Mr. Darling was still upset with his daughter, choosing to ignore her morning _greetings_ and evening_ good-nights_, while Mrs. Darling did her very best to keep the atmosphere pleasant by smiling more often, playing cheerful music on the record player, and making her husband an extra large breakfast each morning before work. Both John and Michael took turns waiting for Peter to return through their window, and Wendy — newly revived with an urge to make her father happy — no longer wrote stories for leisure. At school, she no longer dozed off during the long and dull lectures, and even participated occasionally by answering questions aloud in class.

For many years, Wendy longed for the happy moment where she could meet Peter. Since the evening of her missed opportunity, she kept her curtains wide open and her window unlocked in case he might return. Twice she mistook him for an owl, and nearly fell off her bed trying to reach the window. After four days of disappointment, Wendy began to lose hope, finding it hard to believe that such a boy could ever have existed. She thought that perhaps it was all in her brother's imaginations, propelled no doubt by her stories over the years.

Wendy reckoned it wasn't very healthy to live like this. She lost so much sleep that her eyes looked more like two dried up prunes. She still continued to tell the boys stories, and more than ever they demanded to hear about Peter. She happily obliged these demands, finding herself occasionally being swept up in them as much as John and Michael. Logic told her to forget the whole matter, but longing screamed to just hold on a little longer.

However torturous the anticipation was for Wendy, she never fully betrayed her hope. this was her wish, after all. Her dreams were drenched in fantasies, she could not escape the constant yearning for adventure. Perhaps this may be why Peter's shadow, whom he had forgotten about during his first visit, had chosen Wendy's room to stay in. While Wendy and the rest of the Darlings slept, the shadow haunted her room, looking over random items on her dresser, and inspecting her vast collection of books in her bookcase. Mark Twain's name dominated amongst the authors in the shelf, but there were many others. Quietly the shadow thumbed through the pages of_ The Time Machine_, _20,000 Leagues Under The Sea_, and _Huckleberry Fin_, discovering that Wendy had written in her own notes all over the pages and circled certain phrases in the books, particularly in _Huckleberry Fin_. He concluded that Wendy was very fond of the cocky boy in Twain's story, who lusted for adventure and thrived in mischief, not unlike Peter.

Mr. And Mrs. Darling were just on their way out on this most curious night, to a dinner party. They left Mrs. Darling's sister, Aunt Emilia, to watch the children. Even though it was normally Wendy's duty, Mrs. Darling always made an exception whenever she was leaving them, to tuck her boys in and kiss them each on the cheek.

"Mother," Michael said as Mrs. Darling lit the candles near the window, "Can anything harm us after the night-lights are lit?"

Mrs. Darling smiled, "No Precious," She sat down on his bed and brushed the hair out of his small face. "They are the eyes a mother leaves behind to guard her sleeping boys."

She watched her youngest smile, and slowly close his eyes.

John watched her glide over to him.

"And the best light in this room is you, John." She kissed his cheek, and he threw his arms around her.

"I'm glad of you." They were the last words she was to hear from him for a long time.

Outside the bedroom window, the stars blinked heartily, watching Father and Mother Darling leave. You can always tell when the sky is host to a happy set of stars, because they are the ones that blink the brightest, chattering recklessly with each other. Winking is a kind of language, as ancient as anything else. Though most stars are very old and weary, the young ones burn with curiosity. Stars are very mysterious, and very beautiful, but they can only watch from a distance. It is a punishment for something they did so long ago that hardly any star can remember. They were not very friendly to Peter, for he had a very mischievous reputation with some of the older stars; but they were so fond of fun that they were on his side tonight, and anxious to get the adults out of the way. Just as soon as the Darlings turned the corner, there was a commotion up in the firmament, and the smallest of all the stars in the Milky Way screamed out:

"Now, Peter!"

Inside of her room, the shadow heard Wendy stir in her sleep. He floated, curving over the seams of the sheets, onto her bed for a closer look. She really was quite nice to look at. The shadow glanced down at Wendy's open hand, resting on a pillow near her face. Though she couldn't feel it, for he was nothing but darkness, Peter's shadow put it's hand over hers. But only for a second, because outside of Wendy's window, staring in at the sleeping girl, was none other than the pixie, Tinkerbelle. Unintentionally, she brought in light from her own glowing wings, and the shadow slipped into a dark corner to conceal himself. As much as it enjoyed being at Peter's side for adventure, it also loved very much to hide and cause him a bit of frustration now and again.

Tinkerbelle, signaling to Peter that it was inside the room, flew several feet away as he slipped the window open. Wendy stirred once more as Peter entered, and gathered more blankets together upon feeling the draft from the opened window. Peter closed it immediately, but without making a sound. He was good this way, meticulously careful. He tip-toed around while Tink waited outside for him, nervous about Peter's curiosity towards the sleeping girl.

"C'mon pal," Peter whispered, still careful not to step too heavy on the wood floor. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be." Peter creped over to an opened closet, and moved dresses here and shoes there, never dropping anything or causing any sort of sound to wake Wendy. It was like he was able to see in the dark, and perhaps he could with those eyes, where red and yellow burned behind pair of emeralds.

Though it happened quickly, it was the shadow that dropped several large books onto the floor. Wendy woke up instantly to find Peter wrestling violently with something — but she wasn't exactly sure what.

"Quiet!" Pan begged of his shadow, "I've got you! _I've won!_ _It's over!_" And at this, with Peter's tight grip around the darkness, the shadow went limp. Wendy wasn't sure whether she was awake or dreaming. Peter, quite proud with himself, looked up into Wendy's eyes. One of them gasped, or perhaps both of them at the exact same time. Wendy would never be able to tell, and Peter would never admit it was him. He dropped his shadow to the floor, and bowed at Wendy.

"Hullo," He said. Wendy, surprised to see any sort of manners come from such an unexpected source, bowed back from her bed, in complete disbelief of what was happening, and greeted Peter in return with a shaky, "Hello." He walked a few steps closer to the bed, and poor Tinkerbelle was unable to open the window, forced to watch with the rest of the stars.

"I'm frightfully sorry, but what is that?" Asked Wendy.

"What is what?" Asked Peter, looking around for the source of Wendy's question. She pointed at the floor.

"That, there, next to your foot."

"Oh, that is just my shadow," Peter said, matter of factly. "It likes to leave sometimes."

"I dare ask, does it hurt when it isn't, er, attached?" Asked Wendy apprehensively.

"No," Peter shrugged, "I can't ever tell when it leaves. It just kind of has a way of slipping away when I'm not looking. It used to set me off, but now I just accept it. Though now, I will unfortunately have to ask Big Wolf for more sticky sap. I've been asking for it quite often, and his lending terms are never in my favor."

"I might be able to, perhaps, sew it for you," Wendy said. Peter was unsure of what sewing was. So naturally he asked her, "What is sewing?" Wendy gave him the same perplexed look John did only a few nights ago.

"Sewing will keep your shadow on you, and I dare say it won't be able to break your bond," She said confidently. "I'm quite good at it."

Shrugging, Peter obliged. "Very well, you may sew it." He picked up the limp shadow and laid it out on top of Wendy like a blanket, then he sat down next to her. He was quite forward, this boy, thought Wendy.

"Where shall you sew it?" Asked Peter, debating whether to give Wendy his hand, elbow, knee or foot. She thought for a moment. She had no experience sewing a shadow, but an idea came to her.

"It might be better to sew it at the feet, since that is where I notice most shadows to be. Well, at least with my shadow," Said Wendy, noticing a confused look on Peter's face. Perhaps shadows work differently on the Neverland, she thought.

Wendy reached under her bed for her sewing kit, and pulled out a very large needle along with the darkest colored thread she owned. Peter jumped back in surprise, reaching for his dagger again.

"What is this!" He shouted. Wendy immediately put the needle out of sight.

"It's only a needle and thread. There's nothing to worry about, I promise."

Peter had his dagger out in front of him. The blade was very dull, and showed a very dark and crimson color — stained from the blood of pirates. Wendy scooted closer to Peter and touched the tip of the blade with her index finger, and feeling Peter's resistance weaken, she pushed the blade down to his waist. Then, not taking her eyes off him for even a second, she brought out the needle and thread once more, and gave it to Peter to hold. He put the dagger back in his side belt, and began to inspect this curious object, squinting his eyes and wrinkling his nose.

"It is sharp, but cannot penetrate deeply," He concluded, "You may sew our feet." Peter placed both of his filthy bare feet on Wendy's lap, but she was so used to the dirty feet that belonged to her brothers that it did not bother her.

"This may sting a moment," She said. Peter shut his eyes, holding tight to his limp shadow. Several seconds passed with a grunt from Peter, and the needle was through; soon Wendy had a rhythm going. Now, she thought, would be a good time to bring up the Neverland to Peter.

"So," she began, "Where do you live?" Peter was busy playing with one of the buckles lassoed around his trousers. He looked out through the window, pointing at some random spot in the sky and said, "Second to the right, and then straight on till morning!"

"Oh," Wendy said. "Is that what they put on the letters, then?"

"Don't get no letters," Said Peter, wondering for a moment if he should have said that.

"Well, surely your mother gets letters?" Asked Wendy, before she could stop herself. For a moment she had forgotten who this was.

"Don't have a mum," replied Peter; not only did Peter not have a mother, but he also had absolutely no desire for a mother, regarding them as very over-rated creatures.

"Oh, I'm sorry" Wendy thought this might be a good thing to say. How dreadful, she pondered, it must be not to have a mother.

"I have Tinkerbelle," Peter justified. He then remembered that he left Tinkerbelle to wait outside. Peter got up and hurried over to the window, dragging away Wendy's unfinished work.

"Be careful! Don't tear the seam!" She shouted. Peter twisted the latch open and let her in.

"Sorry, Tink!"

Tinkerbelle, furious, flew straight to the nearest dresser, sat down and crossed her arms. She looked neither at Peter nor Wendy.

Peter decided to fly back to Wendy's bed, as so not to further wrinkle the limp shadow hanging from his feet. Wendy, trying her best not to look impressed as the boy floated seamlessly over to her, finished up by tying the loose thread, and cutting it with her pair of scissors. Peter decided to test out this new experimental procedure by first kicking his leg out. His shadow jumped fully awake, and instantly began trying to escape. Tinkerbelle rolled her eyes at the sight. As hard as it pulled and tugged, the thread stayed in tact. Finally, the shadow submitted. He reached for his sword, and was delighted to find that his shadow did the same. He did a back flip, and the shadow followed.

Peter smiled at the shadow on the wall, forgetting everyone else in the room instantly.

"Oh the cleverness of me!" He celebrated in his most conceited voice, and without the slightest glance at Wendy. Tinkerbelle danced around Peter, leaving her beautiful trail of dust. Wendy stood up out of bed and put her arms on her sides, "Of course, _I_ did nothing?" She asked.

"You did a little," Peter said, dismissively. He looked over at the corner of his eye and saw Wendy climb back into her bed. Tinkerbelle watched Peter fly slowly over to her, and he got very close to her ear.

"Wendy," he said in a voice no girl has yet resisted, "One girl is more use than twenty boys." She couldn't help herself, she turned back over to look at Peter, and said, "Do you really think so?"

"Yes."

"Oh Peter, it is simply wonderful to hear you talk about girls that way." Wendy sat up again, rocking her feet slowly, occasionally brushing the cold wooden floor.

"Peter, I should like to give you something," Wendy said, quite apprehensively.

"Very well," Peter said, "What is it?"

"I should like to give you, a kiss," she finished. Peter held his hand out to receive the kiss from Wendy, and she couldn't help but laugh at this. "You don't know what it is?" she chuckled.

"I shall know," said Peter, feeling a little offended, "When you give one to me."

Not wanting to offend him, Wendy looked around for something, anything to give Peter, and under her bed she found a single thimble. She dusted it quickly, and placed it on his finger. Not sure what to do, Peter looked at it and smiled.

"I suppose now I should give you one?" He asked. And he took an acorn from inside his trouser pockets, and handed it to Wendy.

"It is quite lovely, Peter, thank you. Is it from—"

"The Neverland, Wendy." Peter said, nodding. You could tell immediately that she would put up little fight against the invitation.

"How do you get there?" She asked airily.

Peter wandered somewhere in front of her, and whispered, "I can show you." He took a tiny bit of gold sand from a pouch near his side, held it up to her face, and blew. Immediately the stuff was everywhere. The room lit up brightly, and both John and Michael came running in.

"Wendy! What's going on?" Cried John, who noticed the new illumination as he entered. Peter took more dust, and blew into her brothers faces.

The effects were instantaneous. Wendy grew light-headed with her brothers, and she could see tiny lights popping at the corners of her eyes.

"It's stardust!" Peter cried, "It's what makes you fly! What you have to do, is think of the happiest possible _anything_. Whatever it is that makes you feel your best, like adventure!"

Wendy thought of spring evenings in the park, where John and Michael play alongside the lake, and where she often liked to read and write. Before she knew it, She had bumped her head on the ceiling. Michael laughed.

"Be careful, Wendy," shouted John, who was already rising with Michael holding his hand. She eventually balanced herself properly, and began to fly in circles around her room with her brothers. Tinkerbelle, judging their poor flying skills, still hadn't moved from the dresser. Finally, Peter crowed, getting everyones attention. "All right! Everyone, ready?"

"Ay, sir!" Cried John and Michael with excitement. It would appear to Wendy that the boys had been waiting fervently for this night.

"Wait! What about our parents?" Protested Wendy, but John and Michael were already outside, flying in the night. The urge to leave and play along was immense, but Wendy felt she belonged still at home with her brothers and her parents.

Peter guided Wendy closer to the window, his hand on her waist. "Forget them, Wendy, and come with me, where there are no grown up problems to worry about. It is just adventure, and fun, and it is just me and you." Wendy flew peacefully through the window, and joined her brothers out in the brisk night sky.

"Tink, lead the way!" Peter shouted. Tinkerbelle — having forgotten her anger from earlier — skied higher than the rest, and her glittered trail allowed them all to follow her.


	5. Away To The Neverland

AWAY TO THE NEVERLAND

Manchester slept soundly, draped in a thick blanket of powdered snow. Wendy, John and Michael rose above the skylight with Peter, admiring the haunting glow of their town. Far below, Wendy could just make out her schoolyard, and her favorite swing looming in the shadows. She wondered momentarily if she'd ever see it again, but this thought was thwarted quickly by Peter, who had just completed a series of barrel rolls in the sky. Naturally, Tinkerbelle was there to make his crafty dives and rotations appear even more impressive using her pixie glow as she flew around him. She did this by moving her wings at such great speeds, causing the excess energy gathering up too quickly inside her little body to hiccup. It caused her a bit of discomfort, but seeing the joy on Peter's face was worth it.

"Peter!" Wendy called in the dark, "Perhaps you can tell us exactly _how_ we get to the Neverland!" Peter looked back, and Wendy worried that he had forgotten they were behind him at all.

"Second to the right," He called, looking ahead again, "And straight on till morning!" Wendy wasn't sure how to respond, believing Peter was talking more to himself than to her. He couldn't possibly mean they were traveling to an actual star, she thought. Tinkerbelle let down a gold noose, that glowed the color of a candle. Peter wrapped it around his wrist and called behind to Wendy, shaking his leg, "Hold on tight!"

She grabbed Peter's ankle with both hands, feeling quite venerable at the moment. She shot a look back at John and Michael, who were trying desperately to catch up. John had somehow commandeered a black top hat and a cane with a hooked handle, while Michael held tightly onto poor old Theodore. Within seconds, they were all much deeper into the sky. Wendy now needed to squint just to make out her city. The wind howled as she heard Peter instigating Tinkerbelle, "Faster, Tink! _Faster!"_

"John!" Wendy yelled over the deafening wind, "Grab onto Michael! Hold him tight and take my leg!" John reached down and pulled his little brother up. Micheal wrapped his arms around his brothers waist, using Theodore as an overstretched extension, but John could not reach Wendy's leg.

"Wendy! _I can't!_" He cried. Peter seemed not to be paying any attention to the crisis going on just five feet under him.

"Peter!" Wendy yelled, "Peter! Wait!"

She could see that there was very little time. Tinkerbelle was ascending into black space, growing brighter and brighter. Soon, she was so blinding that anyone watching from the ground below might have mistaken them for a shooting star. Peter called out to anyone still alive behind him, "Get ready!"

"PETER!" Wendy couldn't tell if it was because of the violent wind or her overwhelming fear, but tears were steamrolling down her face. It was obvious now that he couldn't hear her.

"_One!"_ He yelled. John was still several feet away from Wendy.

"_Two!"_ Wendy could no longer look back, scared of the possibility that the powerful wind would break her neck if she didn't keep it perfectly straight. She tried her best to extend her foot for her brothers.

"_THREE!" _Shouted Peter at last. Wendy felt instantly like she was being pulled apart at the waist, and the black space around her seemed to envelope into itself. She felt as if any moment she'd die, but strangely she was calm. She could see nothing in front of her for a moment, but the echo of a conceited laugh lingered on like it was coming from a long empty hallway.

Wendy could kill him for this, she thought. Hardly anything he mentioned prior to flight prepared her for the agonizing terror she experienced, witnessing her brothers feeble attempts to hold on. Water was swimming all throughout her eyes, and her ears felt like they had been sucked in. For a brief moment she suspected she was dead, but the pain shooting from her femur to her foot reminded her that she was very much alive.

Soon Wendy's eyes were beginning to adjust, and she wiped the salty tears from her cheeks. She still couldn't see, but now she could hear the very cocky laugh from only a moment ago.

"_Peter!"_ Wendy shouted, exhaustedly reaching for him, "_What—was—that!" _The laughter stopped, and Wendy felt a breeze brush by her.

"Just give it some time. Your body needs to adjust," Peter said, sounding more nurturing than before. But Wendy had no time. Were her brothers dead? She needed to know what happened.

"Where is John? What happened to Michael?" She asked, frantically.

"They're fine," Peter assured her. "They're tough, those two." Wendy didn't believe they were fine. She was sure they had both fallen to their deaths, and it would be all her fault. What would her parents say?

"Prove it." Spoke a blind Wendy, "Prove they're all right." Peter stood up and crowed. Wendy, listening intently, heard two crows respond off in the distance, followed by Michael's unmistakable chuckles.

"Oh," Wendy gasped, "Thank goodness."

Wendy's vision eventually returned. Instantly she noticed that the thing she had been laying on this whole time was not a bed, as she had first thought. The softness resembled a bed, sure, and the silky feel of the pearly white material felt like the sheets in her own room, but she could not help noticing one particular difference: No bed she had ever come across before had the ability to float in the sky.

Off in the distance, Wendy saw John and Michael bouncing from cloud to cloud, with Tinkerbelle flying around them. They laughed as though they had not laughed in years. Wendy watched, smiling.

"There are no rules of architecture up here," Peter said in Wendy's ear, doing his best impression of a proper, grown-up voice. "Up here in the clouds, your dreams take hold of you, and create themselves."

Wendy laughed. They sat together and watched John and Michael race Tinkerbelle through a patch of clouds. Wendy looked on as Michael doubled back and tricked John into thinking he had hidden behind one of the smaller clouds. John was ready to strike with his cane, until Michael reappeared and gave him a good kick in the rear. Peter fell over laughing with Wendy.

"Peter," Wendy asked afterward, "How old are you?"

"Very young," He replied.

"You don't know?" Wendy asked.

"Well, I know I came when I was about 6. But it's difficult to remember back so far," Peter finished, looking over at Wendy's expression. "What?"

Wendy was aware that Peter's story went very far back, decades before her own mother was born. It would be impossible for him, now, she thought, to be so young, if her own mother grew up listening to the same stories. But then again, she considered, she _was_ piecing all of this together while sitting on top of a cloud.

"Nothing," Wendy said, shaking her head. She made the choice, from then on, to apply logic only when necessary. Peter rolled over on his side, and began to make a cloud angel. Michael and John, tired from flying, sat up on the cloud with Wendy.

"Peter," John asked, out of breath, "Where is it? When do we see?"

Peter, continuing to make angels in the cloud, bothered not to look up, "We have to wait for the signal."

"Oh," Said John, "What is the signal?"

Peter gave his overconfident smirk, "Oh, you'll see."

Wendy wasn't so sure she was ready for more excitement. Every surprise so far had left her terror-stricken and exhausted. She looked over at her two brothers, who were both copying Peter, and tried to find any land in the distance. Beneath her was nothing, other than pure blue sky, and overhead was the same. Every direction she looked, Wendy saw only clouds and boys. Hours went by, it seemed, and Wendy began to feel quite bored, and small hunger pangs were making themselves noticed inside her stomach. She caught glimpses of John and Michael, still making angels in the cloud, and looking just as famished.

"Peter," Wendy said, finally, "When exactly—"

But Wendy did not get to finish her question. A loud bang occurred, and seconds later Peter kicked Wendy out of the way just as a large cannon blasted through the middle of the cloud, just missing her head.

"That's it!" Cried Peter, jumping to his feet, "That's the signal!"

Peter jumped into the sky, and before taking off, he called to the three waiting on the cloud, "You wait here!"

"What!?" Wendy was clutching her side where Peter had just kicked, gasping for air. She looked through the hole created by the cannon, and no longer was there only sky; Now there was, clear as day, an ocean as wide as anything she'd ever seen, and a ship with a single black flag raised above the mast, carrying the men responsible for the large cannon that only just missed her. Pirates.


	6. Venturers and Wanderers

VENTURERS AND WANDERERS

"_Reload!"_ Cried Smee from the top of the stairway that lead into the lower decks, "_Reload, or you'll meet the ropes end, every last one of yeh!"_ His disposition was usually more seraphic, but today Smee couldn't help to contain his anxious excitement. A highly skilled sailing master, he was the ship's official boatswain, and had been ever since the day his captain's hand had been separated from the rest of his body and eaten by an ancient beast who dwelled in the Vaitarna River near the Summer Forest.

"_Ready . . . aim . . . fire!"_ Another series of cannon balls launched skyward from the lower decks where the gun crew worked.

"I want him _alive_, Smee," Spoke an austerulous voice. "Was I not clear of this?" Smee, startled, turned around to face his captain. His piercing black eyes swallowed Smee whole. The well-trimmed mustache resting under his large, crooked nose curled into little hooks at the tips. He normally reposed his left hand inside his coat pocket, secured tightly around a loaded flintlock, as the sharp piece of metal attached to his right arm hung silently at his side like the pendulum of a broken clock.

"My apologies, Cap'n!" Choked Smee, bowing religiously, "The men — they must'eh just got a lil over excited, thas' all, considerin' this be the first Pan sightin' in weeks…" There was no mistaking the reverence in his apologetic voice. James Hook was, after all, not known for his mercy. He once suspected several of his crew of conspiring a mutiny aboard his own ship. Without so much as a warranted accusation, he had them all tied and thrown overboard, siting reasons of "bad form." Luckily for Smee, Hook held him in his good favor, and spared him and the handful of others who helped tie up the mutineers.

Smee quickly turned back to sink his head down into the lower decks again.

"Right! Yeh bunch o' grog-snarfing swabbies! Switch those artillery 'round! Replace them with the netting! Cap'n wants Pan alive! We best deliver him that way! Swiftly now, or it's down to Davey Jones with yeh!"

Clumsily the crew ran every which way, slipping on soaked wooden floorboards and crashing into each other. Oliver Read just missed Smee's head with his own as he tripped over the bowsprit.

"_Mister Smee!_" Hollered the Frenchman Lafitte from the lower deck, _"Zere ees' only a few nettings left to use!" _Lafitte was the ship's carpenter, but was forced to take up arms since so few men were available now.

"Well then, Lafitte, it would be highly in yer best interests to aim well!" Cried Smee over the sounds of canons blasting all around. Lafitte loaded Johann, the strongest canon aboard the ship, with the help of Ogden Bones, who worked while being chained down to the floorboards.

"_Pockets! Where's the powder?" _Cried Bones.

Pockets, the ship's cabin boy, came running up from the hold — the lowest compartment on the ship — choking on the fumes. His clothes were filthy and his face was blackened from the bag of gunpowder he carried over his back. Bones and Lafitte took the load from Pockets, who immediately ran back down to prepare the next batch.

Being the most experienced gunner aboard, Bones prepped Johann by mopping the interior of the barrel. He then packed it tightly with gunpowder and placed a cloth wad made of old rope and canvas over it before compressing it all with his hammer. Next, the netted ball, a device created by the ship's Inventor, Posher the Mute, was placed inside, followed by more cloth. Lafitte helped Bones heave the cannon over the front of the ship's bulwark, where the barrel protruded out of the gun port. Bones took a moment to adjust the trajectory of the cannon.

"Ready. . . _Fire!" _He Cried. The explosion sent the ball into the sky, aimed to where Wendy and her brother's lay watching.

As the cannon approached at vast speeds, Wendy could see steam releasing from it's sides.

"Move!" She shouted, grabbing Michael by the waist.

"No!"

Wendy and John turned around and saw Peter, who had returned with a rather large potato-looking creature wrapped in bloodstained clothes under his arms.

"Stay hidden! Don't let them see you! Wendy, move over next to John!"

Peter flew down, calculating where the cannonball was going to hit. They could hear it whistling loudly like the trains at Manchester Central Station. Peter placed the large potato-like thing down with the clothes just as a huge net closed in on it, wrapping it all in a tangle of thick ropes. It skied upward, then descended down into the ocean, finishing with an immense splash. Wendy heard loud cheers coming from the ship below, and Peter, smirking, turned back to John and handed him a sword. John's eyes twinkled.

"Absolutely NOT!" Shouted Wendy.

"Oh, come on!" John protested, "We have no choice! They mean to kill us!"

Wendy looked from Peter to John, realizing the full magnitude of the situation she had put them in by coming here. If they didn't act quickly, they would all surely be captured, and there was nothing to be done regarding John's sudden lust for adventure.

"Michael stays with me, then. Leave a sword." She said to Peter.

"Can you use one?" Peter asked, handing it to her. Wendy shot him a look.

"Don't think a girl could handle a sword, do you?"

Peter shrugged, "I only asked in case you needed counsel." Wendy blushed slightly, embarrassed of her haughtiness.

"Oh. Well, I wouldn't mind a _few_ words of encouragement," She said.

Peter thrust his sword through the surrounding air. "Strike to kill, Wendy! Hold nothing back!"

Wendy watched Peter timidly as he attempted to wound the sky with a series of well executed maneuvers, wondering exactly how many men he had run his blade through.

"Well," She said shakily, "What is the plan, then?" Peter, who was still throwing his sword in the air violently, stopped and turned around to look her in the eyes.

"Plan?" He asked clemently. He really couldn't have acted more cavalier. "Plans are nothing more than tiny prayers."

Wendy looked back at him, befuddled at what this meant. Peter smiled at her, and laughing, he achieved a perfect back-flip, and flew away with John in his follow. Michael was glad to be with Wendy. Being so young, he had no intentions of battle unless it was make-believe. Laying down next to her on the calm, slumbering cloud, he expressed his worry for John.

"He'll be fine, Michael," She reassured him.

"Your brother is most excellent with a sword, and remember who he's with. The best swordsman in all of Neverland."

Michael smiled into Wendy's shoulder, his grip on Theodore loosening a little.

Wendy realized this was her first opportunity to take in the view of the Neverland without interruption. As she watched the Jolly Roger steering in the direction of Peter's trap, she noticed the ocean blend in seamlessly with the sky, far off in the distance. The clouds drifted ominously away from deep waters, heading instead towards land. The Neverland was everything Wendy knew it would be. Several cascades carried water in different shades of blue and purple, into a series of lagoons. There were a few mountains with snow scattered at the top, which Wendy thought to be impossible in these sunny conditions.

The Neverland was much bigger than she had expected. A dark forest lay west of the mountains, and anything beyond that was not within her eyesight. The most remarkable feature, however, came when Wendy looked behind her, and saw that the body of water surrounding the Neverland edged off into nothing. It appeared that if she were to sketch out everything in front of her, the topography she would end up with would look like nothing short of an Island suspended in space. She wanted badly to explore the mysterious Neverland, but Peter and John's absence forced her thoughts back towards the ocean, where she could no longer see either of them.

"Michael, do you see your brother?" Wendy asked. Michael shook his head, looking over the cloud. The wait for Peter and John was becoming intolerant. Time seemed to move in a disorganized manner here. Wendy was unable to discern seconds from minutes or even minutes from hours, and she wished no longer to wait in the clouds with a frightened younger brother.

"I suppose it wouldn't be much harm to have a look around the Island, just as long as we stay away from the ship, don't you think?" Michael wished to keep a close eye on the vessel just in case his brother turned up.

"You go, Wendy, I'll be okay," He told her. Wendy wasn't sure it was a good idea to leave a seven year old alone in a cloud. But the Neverland grew lushly, and golden sunshine was showing all over the forests. Wendy's curiosity was begging to explore.

"You promise to stay up here no matter what?" She asked Michael sternly. He nodded.

"I promise, Wendy." Michael hugged his sister tightly, and she was gone.

Near the shores of the Neverland, Peter lay in wait with John, hidden behind several large rocks. Peter watched the Jolly Roger edging closer, his eyes glowing like embers, while his heart excitedly churned the blood in his body, warming it up in preparation for his next big adventure. The ocean waters crashed against the rocks, hiding any conversations taking place nearby.

"Ready to play?" Peter asked John delightedly. John gave Peter his most constricted expression available.

"Play what?"

"_Steal Hook's Hook,_ of course! I've only just invented it!" Cried Peter excitedly, the embers in his eyes glowing even more so.

"Er, how do you play?" Asked John, now only just mentally aware of the owner of the ship less than 500 meters away. Peter crouched closer to John, making absolutely sure he had his full attention.

"It's simple. There are only three rules in this game," He said. John was of the opinion that this was not so much a game as it was his death sentence.

"One, kill as many Pirates as you can. Two, Don't get killed yourself, or you lose automatically," Peter spoke casually, marking off each rule with his fingers, "And three, you win by simply taking Hook's hook. When he's not looking, you sneak up behind him and pull it off!"

John looked at Peter incredulously.

"And _four," _Peter continued, forgetting that the game had only three rules, "Don't kill Hook, leave him to me. Do you understand?"

John nodded vigorously. He was a soup of fear, excitement and timidity. All his life this is what he wished for; the chance for adventure, but this opportunity now proved to be much more than harmless fun. It was real. The odds were stacked greatly against him, and his only companion was a boy who, he wondered, might abandon him at the first signs of trouble.

"Peter — er — exactly how many members are there in Hook's crew?" John asked.

"Well, from my last count there was 25, but the word from the mermaids is that a recent botched mutiny sent at least eight of them to their deaths," Peter replied with bright eyes, "So we can expect an easy route today, can't we?" Peter smiled.

"_Easy?_ Are you mad? You're talking at least 17 men against _two boys!_"

Peter's smile faded into something darker than a scowl.

"Is this not what you wanted? Why are you here, then?"

John suppressed the urge to retort. Peter was right, after all. This is exactly what John desired. He nodded again, fixing his glasses correctly and clutching tightly to his sword.

"Ok, let's go," John sighed, as though reserved to the worst.


	7. The Rescue of Pockets

THE RESCUE OF POCKETS

The Jolly Roger came upon the potato creature near the shores of the Neverland, cutting through water like moonlight through darkness. Overhead the sun was bright, and the winds were calm for the moment. The crew worked tirelessly to get the ship's fishing nets set down to where the sack of clothes floated near the disguised potato, bobbing in and out of the water like an apple, moaning as though in pain. Not a single man aboard cared to look over the side of the ship at it. Instead, they guided the nets until they were sure the heavy lift in weight meant it had been scooped up.

"We definitely got someone, Cap'n!" Hollered Smee, rubbing his hands delightedly. Hook crept towards him like a slow moving fog. The crew pulled heavy, thick ropes soaked in salt water, hoisting the contents of the net above their heads. As it rocked back and forth, dripping with thick sea slime, Hook's black eyes penetrated the mush, slime and starfish. His crooked nose wrinkled, his fists clenched tightly. The entire crew ducked underneath anything close by as Hook tore at them, but Smee wasn't quick enough. Hook grabbed him by the collar with the rusted steel attached to his arm. Smee held his breath, choking on his own fear, as Hook drenched him in acrid unpleasantnesses.

"_That is not Pan, you miserable oaf! Does that look like the boy to you? Do you think me a fool, Smee?" _Hook was breathing heavily, his eyes were murderous, and he looked to be rounding up on a fresh series of screams and swears, but instead he sighed heavily, and spoke calmly to his boatswain, still holding him up by his wrinkled caller, his feet dangling in the air.

"_I am forever cursed by this flawed body, Smee. Do you understand the importance of that boy's capture? I don't belong here. I need to get out, help me catch Pan, Smee."_

For one confining second, Hook's face contorted. His hollowed eyes, sunken and worn, forever feared by children everywhere now seemed venerable. Smee had never seen his captain in this state. Hook actually appeared to be on the verge of tears. High above, inside the thicket of the net, something made a loud muffled noise, and Hook gathered himself quickly.

"Smee, did you hear that?" He whispered.

"Ay, Captain," Smee said, "It sounded like a sneeze!"

Hook dropped the much shorter Smee to the floor, and slashed the rope holding up the net with his rusted hook. The crew jumped out of the way of the falling fish and other debris as the potato landed with a loud thump amongst the seaweed. Hook reached for his sword, and every man aboard followed suit. He placed his freshly polished boot atop the potato, screaming in painful moans, and spoke to his crew.

"Men, it appears we have prevented an ambush!"

Smee and the crew laughed heartily. Hook gave the potato a shake with his foot, learning that it was not only hollowed out, but host to something inside.

"Cap'n, do yeh think it'd be one of the lost boys in there?" Asked Smee.

Hook wasn't so sure he could rule out this possibility. Even more so was the chance that it could be one of the redskins, who were far superior fighters and always seemed so willing to form alliances with the lost boys. A cruel smile curled at the corners of Hook's chapped lips, his black eyes turned to slits, as he examined thoroughly the men surrounding him.

"Fetch me Bones, Smee." Hook said, curling his mustache with his left hand. Moments later, Smee returned with the man still shackled in chains.

"Hello, Bonesy," Hook chuckled, and every other crew member laughed aloud. "I have a little proposition for you, if you are interested."

Ogden Bones, the greatest gunner ever to join the crew of the Jolly Roger, stared into the godless eyes of his captain.

"I'm listening."

"Well, I know we all feel terrible about your dreadfully poor decision making, regarding that _icky, _poorly executed mutiny, don't we, men?" Everyone shook their heads in mechanical agreement. "And nothing would make me happier than to see you prove your loyalty right now."

Bones, recognizing the obvious sarcasm in Hook's voice, glanced down at the massive potato still wrenching it's little limbs underneath Hook's boot, knowing full well what his intentions were.

"You mean for me to risk my life finding out what's inside."

Hook patted Bones on the back with his only available hand.

"Precisely. I assure you, our surgeon will be well within reach, should anything happen," Hook said, gesturing at Lafitte. "You have my word."

Bones had no choice. Two men went behind his back and unshackled the chains. Slowly, he walked towards the potato. Everyone near him shrank away, as though fearing they'd catch some deadly illness. Massaging his wrists lightly, he bent down to inspect the potato, unsure of what to do. He thought of asking for a sword to stab at it, just in case there was a lost boy or a redskin waiting patiently inside. He thought of picking it up and smashing it, which would result in instant death for anyone inside, but would also leave him venerable to a bomb explosion. The redskins were quite skilled with the poisons found on the Neverland.

"What say you, Bones?" Hook cried, "Any souls awaiting death?"

"Captain," Bones spoke, moving the potato slowly with his foot, and hearing an odd sort of noise like gravel or little rocks inside. "There is something, but I am of the mind that it is not human. Perhaps—If I had a sword—" Laughter erupted from the men standing far away. Bones knew it would be a stretch to ask.

"Give it up, Mate! Nobody ain't giving you any weapons!" Shouted Billy Jansen, who had his pistol pointing straight at the potato.

Hook however, didn't speak. He waited for the laughter to die, and walked calmly up to Bones and handed him the dagger from his side belt. The entire crew, including Smee, gasped.

"Regardless of your history, you're a worthy gunner, and a damn good pirate. Can I trust you with this, Bones?" Hook raised his eyebrows, waiting for him to take the dagger. Bones looked from Hook to the crew, every pair of eyes on the ship fixated on him. He took it from Hook, who walked back to his place while readjusting his hands inside his coat again. The Jolly Roger had never known such a silence.

Bones turned his attention back on the potato in front of him. Breathing deeply, he moved it around again to hear the dirt inside, finally placing it at an angle he felt would deliver the cleanest cut. All attention was on him, this was his moment. But if one person had accidentally looked the other way for even a second, they might have noticed young John, a piece of cloth wrapped around his mouth, hiding near the forecastle of the ship.

"C'mon already, Bones!" Grunted Jansen again, "We haven' got all day!" The rest of the crew hummed and hoed in agreement. It was much easier to taunt him from a safe distance. John was making his way closer to the scene, waiting for the pirate to make his move. The fear from earlier had been replaced by the adrenaline and longing to prove something to Peter, though he wasn't sure what that something was.

Billy Jansen fell backward as he watched Bones powerfully thrust the dagger into the potato. It ripped open instantly, delivering the poisonous pollen of the sneezing daisy. It sprayed deadly gas, the color of a sunset, all over Bones and several others close by, killing them instantly.

Quickly, John reared around the first available pirate during the panic, driving his sword straight into his back. Two others caught wind, but John, who was much quicker, had them both beat instantly. Amongst the chaos, Hook didn't notice his men being taken out until he walked over the body of one of his pirates seeing the wounds John delivered.

"Smee, arm yourself!" Hook cried, raising his right arm.

"Ay, Cap'n!" Smee was carrying two pistols in his hands, aiming recklessly towards the sky.

Quicker than most men could see it happen, Peter had arrived. Suspended in mid air near the mast, he crowed to John down on the deck. John returned the call after cutting one more pirate in the belly.

"_Pan!"_

Hook screamed loudly into the bright blue sky. Smee fired at Peter with both guns, missing every time. He cut through the bullets with his sword, and danced on the windy breezes, laughing merrily as Hook stalked his trail along the ship. It wasn't until the poison from the sneezing daisy cleared fully, that Hook saw his men being torn apart by the lost boys, who had climbed aboard the Jolly Roger during the chaos. There were eleven in total, not including John or Peter. Each of them wore cloth over their faces, and old pirate clothes as they cut through the crowd. Smee ran back into the Captain's Quarters while Hook reared back around to Peter.

"Boy, face me if you dare!" Hook pointed the tip of his bejeweled sword straight up at Peter, his black eyes gleaming with hate. Peter remained quiet, his eyebrows raised and a smile curling over his lips. He watched Tinkerbelle fly down into the mess of bodies amongst the ship, and only then did he decide to turn his attention to Hook. His eyes popped in crimsons and shades of gold, the color of a dangerous fire.

"Have at thee," Peter whispered.

Hook shrieked, Peter shouted to the sky as he flew down like a sparrow, and seconds later the fight had begun.

The red eyes met the black. Peter's sword connected with Hooks, both blades at equal distance from their owners. Hook took a furious swing at Peter with his right hand. Peter evaded the rusted metal and threw Hook off-balance. He crowed, a noise Hook loathed, for it signified the love of a fight, an edge, and Hook never quite had the edge on Peter.

"Good form, old man!" Shouted Peter, wiping saliva from his mouth. They circled each other, while in the background more swords clashed. Peter saw out of the corner of his eye, John and Thomas Banville — second in command to Peter —overtake a large, burly Pirate together near the door leading to the Captain's Quarters.

"Well, Pan," Hook spoke curtly, clutching his sword even tighter in his grip, "It appears your boys have outmatched my men. What is it you desire?" Peter recognized the casual tone in Hook's voice. It was tactical, a part of a scheme, and Hook was the best schemer in the Neverland, but Peter knew better. The game was always chess.

"I'm here for your cabin boy. Give him here, and I will leave."

"Pockets, you say?" Hook looked around, surveying, deciding whether losing a cabin boy of no real value was worth the risk of losing all his men in an outmatched fight. "Very well."

Hook put is sword away, and Peter did the same. Hook put two fingers at his lips and whistled. Swords were still clanking all around, guns going off and men shouting in pain.

Smee opened the door of the Captain's Quarters slowly. Hook refused to take his eyes of Peter as Smee stumbled out, terrified, holding a pistol with only one bullet left in it.

"Fetch the cabin boy, Smee."

"Pockets, Cap'n? Fer what, if I may ask?" He held the pistol at waist length, anticipating anyone to close in on him.

"I believe he's in the brig, I'll go get—" Smee's voice was cut off by John and Thomas, who had overtaken him from behind. John tied Smee up using his cloth, as Thomas ran inside Hook's personal quarters.

"Stop them!" Hook cried, taking out his sword once more and chasing after Peter, who was flying in the direction of the brig. Two pirates chased John and Thomas inside.

"Don't let them inside!" Hook shouted over his shoulder as he ran after Peter through the crowd of violence. But Peter was too quick, and before Hook could get so far as ten feet, he was forced to draw his sword against both of the Cunning twins. Peter dived through a stairway, into the brig where Pockets lay unconscious with a large knot just above his eyebrow. Peter shook him.

"Pockets! You alright, mate?" Pockets didn't look a day over eight years old. He didn't move, but he was still breathing. Peter picked him up over his shoulder and flew back outside where he performed two short crows, the signal to withdrawal. At once, the lost boys abandoned their fight and jumped overboard, into their rowboats. Hook was still battling the Cunning twins. He hoped to at least take one down before it ended.

"Peter!" Cried one of the twins, "Help!" Peter placed two fingers near his lips and whistled for Tinkerbelle, who appeared instantly. She took Pockets by his ankle, as Peter dashed down to the twins. Hook was too formidable a swordsman for the two, and they were both growing exhausted, but Peter arrived just in time to help. Taking on all three at once might have been too much for Hook. He realized this and slipped through an escape floor board as Peter picked the twins up and dropped them into boats.

John narrowly evaded the Pirates that chased him and Thomas into the Captain's Quarters, giving one of them a broken nose with the handle of a gun. Thomas went as far the library before seeing what Peter had asked him to find: The glass jar holding a brilliant light that danced around, pleading for help. Smiling, he assured the fairy that he was safe now, and tried to open the jar, but it was closed tightly. He carried it over his arm and ran back outside where John waited for him.

As he walked through the threshold, Thomas was met by Hook, who raised his left arm without hesitation, and cut him across the stomach.

"No!" John flew down swiftly to the pair, and grabbed Thomas from under his armpits before Hook could raise his arm again. Together they jumped into the air, blood dripping profusely from Thomas's belly wound. Hook watched them disappear into the sky, casually wiping the blood off his rusted steel with a handkerchief from his pocket. He picked up the jar Thomas had dropped and stared into the glass with his black eyes, seeing the pixie withering in fear. Hook shook the jar violently and then whispered softly into the small air holes at the top, the thick stench of his breath fogging up the glass from the inside. "Thought you'd gotten away from me, did you?"


	8. Wendy & The Bugul Noz

WENDY AND THE BUGUL NOZ

If there was any lingering desire for home, or fear for her brother's mortal well-being in Wendy's heart, it was all promptly withdrawn at the sight of the beautiful Neverland, and replaced with a strong desire to stay and grow old here. Wendy soared through the air, soaking up everything her eyes glanced over. Trees the color of fire grew to great heights, perched on uneven rolling hills. Various types of birds nested on thick branches, singing proudly. The wind was calm on this side of the Neverland, and Wendy concluded that the season at the moment was unmistakably Autumn. But it was not the same as her Autumns in Manchester, where only a few trees existed amongst the tall buildings and busy streets. Carefully, she ventured down lower to the ground near an ill-kept pumpkin patch that had been fenced off using different lengths of branches tied together with string. Her bare feet made contact with the cold grass for the first time, and she sighed happily.

Wendy walked alongside the forest squinting her eyes as she tried to see further into it, but the thickness of the trunks and the lack of light the many colored leaves allowed made it impossible to see anything past the first few hundred feet. To her immediate right, she saw a family of small rabbits running into the Pumpkin Patch. Further to the right was a cliff overlooking the lagoon she had seen earlier that lead out into the blue ocean.

"Oh!" Wendy gasped. Underneath one of the colorful waterfalls, she thought she had seen something, but wasn't sure it could be what she hoped. She started in the direction of the lagoon, but stopped immediately after hearing what sounded like a laugh come from it.

"Don't be silly," She told herself. "Your mind's just playing tricks on you."

Wendy continued towards the lagoon, and heard it again. A high laugh that sounded like it could have come from a young girl about her own age. She was almost there, and the closer she got, the louder the laughs became. She took the sword Peter gave her from her side, and clutched it tightly, just in case this was some sort of trap. More giggles, louder than ever, followed a series of loud splashes. Wendy laid over the side of the cliff, now completely unwilling to believe her own eyes at the sight. Mermaids. From where she could see, Wendy counted five of them, all of which looked slightly human with different colored skin that turned to scales, and a large fin where there would normally be a pair of legs. The mermaids had been playing in the different colored water, somersaulting into the waterfalls before Wendy had seen them.

"Oh my!" She cried, much louder than she should have. The mermaids spotted the source of the sound, looking alarmed, and made quick dives into the colorful water, hiding deep below. Wendy threw the sword to the side in frustration. For a while she sat, sulking over her missed opportunity. The autumn wind carried sweet perfumes from the forest to the rolling hills along the pumpkin patch. Wendy got up and walked over to the patch, noticing a sign in the middle of it that read, "KEEP OOT O' PUMKINES!"

Wendy chuckled. She wondered if this patch belonged to Peter, and if it did, then she'd have to have a few proper English lessons scheduled with him. For a while, longer than Wendy knew, she strolled around the pumpkin patch lazily, smelling the sweetness of the fruit, watching the clouds roll by the lazy Sun. Suddenly she felt a sharp, painful bite near her ankle.

"Ouch!" Wendy shrieked as she backed away into the grass. Something had scurried by her too quick to see. Again, she pulled her sword out and looked down near her ankle. A deep bite mark the size of an apple core was imprinted in her leg.

"Who goes there?" Wendy called out. Nobody spoke. All she heard were the birds in the forest nearby, and the sound of the crashing waterfalls near the lagoon. Wendy walked along the pumpkin patch with the sword in her hand, her eyes searching for the culprit. As she approached a small group of pumpkins growing together, Wendy heard something — or someone apparently enjoying a rather delicious meal. The sound was repulsive. As if whoever was eating had been starving for days. Wendy spotted a tiny hand resting against the wooden fence. Quickly she reached down and grabbed at it, horrified at what it belonged to. A little gnome dressed in trousers and a small yellow hat hung from the hand Wendy clutched tightly. It tried to attack her, but the creature was far too small to reach. Wendy held it as far away from her as possible. It's beady eyes glinted as it barred it's sharp teeth, now going for her arm. Wendy shook it violently.

"Stop!" She said. The gnome didn't relent, so she shook him again, this time he looked dizzy, and he resisted further temptation.

"Are these your pumpkins?" She asked sternly. The gnome looked down at them longingly, and then at Wendy with a rather ugly expression as he shook his head.

"Well then, I don't believe you have any business helping yourself to them. Why don't you go find another place to eat, where you don't have to steal or bite people."

The gnome hung limp, looking angry as ever. He tried once more to free himself by biting Wendy, who threw him as hard as she could towards the forest. He fell over himself, and tripped over his large feet as he ran into the deep, dark woods. Wendy dusted herself off and picked up the pumpkin the gnome had been enjoying. It had been hollowed out. She threw it back to the ground, where it broke into several pieces. She decided to fly over the forest and see other parts of the Neverland, but there was one small problem: She could no longer fly. No matter what she did — in fact, Wendy couldn't remember how she had managed to fly before — she was unable to lift into the air. Frustrated, she set off walking along the forest.

A long time seemed to pass as Wendy walked. During this time she saw many different variations of rabbits dwelling on the outside of the thick trees. One particular rabbit, much larger than any of the others, had a very long, black horn that spun up into a sharp point. Wendy kept her distance, in case it had any ideas to attack her, but it didn't. She also came across many different berry patches, and this sustained her hunger.

Finally, feeling exhausted, Wendy arrived at a point in between a large lake and the ocean shore. Next to the lake was a poorly made sign with black paint that read: Hangman's Tree, with an arrow pointing towards a small series of trees up ahead. She stopped to drink from the lake, which held the clearest water she had ever seen. The water was just to her preference, not too cold, and very clean. The winds had calmed on this side of the Neverland, as well as the temperature. It was quite warmer here compared to side of the pumpkin patch. After drinking the water, Wendy decided to visit the Hangman's Tree, but stopped immediately, for what she heard up ahead did not sound very inviting.

"Any last words?"

"_Please! Please don't! I've done nothin!"_

"You're a pirate, you filth! That counts fer somethin!"  
Wendy approached the voices slowly and with stealth. She was sure the aggressors were children. She rounded around the small group of trees, and was able to look through the branches and leaves to the other side. This time, she had to physically close her mouth with her hand to prevent anyone from hearing her gasp. A thick branch belonging to the largest tree held a tightly wrapped rope, and at the end of that rope was a noose placed around the neck of an old man standing on top of a tall, wooden crate. Around the old man were three boys whom Wendy had never seen. They all seemed very pleased with themselves for this capture, even though the man looked very weary and defenseless. There was no mistaking it, though, he definitely fit the role of Pirate amongst these boys.

"I have gold! An' lots o' weapons! An' diamonds! Please don-"

The smallest boy in the group had been climbing the tree as the old man pleaded with the rest, and tied his mouth and eyes shut. He then hopped down to join the other two. The chubbiest of the three spoke.

"Should we wait for Peter to do it?" He asked.

"I don't see why we should. We've already taken all we need. He might think it a waste of time." Said the smallest one.

"Maybe we should wait…I don't think we should upset him again…" spoke the third. The whole time during the debate, Wendy watched the old man, and the terror-struck look on his face. She pitied him, and these boys clearly had no clue what they were doing. Wendy summoned all her courage she had, for these three could easily overpower her if they wished to do so. She circled around the east side of the trees, and approached the party calmly.

"Excuse me." She said, trying her hardest not to sound threatening. At once the boys swung around holding out their swords.

"I do really think all that won't be necessary!" Wendy said.

The Oldest of the three stepped forward towards Wendy. His chest swelled with air as he tried to summon all of his height. The other two stayed behind with looks of curiosity. This may very well have been the first time they had seen a girl their own age. Even the oldest one couldn't hide the inquiring look on his face. Still, he took his sword from his side and held it out in front of Wendy.

"Pirate or Animal?" He asked. Wendy wasn't sure how to answer.

"Excuse me?" She asked.

"Pirate or Animal? What are you? You're certainly not a boy!"

"Certainly not!" Chimed in the littlest.

"I am not a pirate! And obviously, not an animal, thank you very much!" Wendy couldn't help but feel slightly offended.

"My name is Wendy, I am a girl." The others looked around at each other, confused. The old man tied up in the noose tried to shift the blindfold, desperate to see anything.

"Wendy? Whas a — Wendy?" Asked the littlest one. The boy next to him shook his head. The tallest of the three kept his sword up at Wendy.

"I've never seen you before. How did you get here? Who sent you?" He asked.

"Peter, of course!" Wendy replied with haste. She noticed all three of the boys had been slowly closing in on her. At Peter's name, however, they all stopped.

"Peter?!" Shouted the tallest. "You lie."

"Prove it!" The other two said in unison. Wendy wasn't sure how she could prove it unless Peter showed up at that moment. She took the sword from her side and held it out for the three to see.

"Peter gave me this. My brothers are with him. They should turn up any minute now." She spoke. For the first time in a long while, Wendy remembered her brothers, John and Michael. Fear shot up through her like ice in her veins. The three boys stepped back and huddled. Wendy watched them doubled over, peeking occasionally to make sure she wasn't trying to spy on them. The whispers were inaudible, and the old man by the tree grunted and moaned loudly in pain. Wendy interrupted the boys talks.

"What is it you mean to do to the man?" She asked. Again, the tallest boy stepped forward, but with more swag this time around. Wendy didn't like his confidence.

"You say Peter brought you here, Wendy?"

"That's right."

"Fly, did you? Like a bird."

"Yes, he taught us how."

"Did you hear that, boys? Peter taught the Wendybird to fly!" The other two hawked and chuckled loudly. The old mans painful moans were piercing Wendy's ears. Again the tallest spoke. "I think you're a liar, Wendybird. I think you meant to ambush us, and free this Pirate, who is about to answer for years of murder and theft." Wendy began to back trail as the three boys closed in on her much quicker this time.

"_Ambush you?_ Three on one? Do I look that stupid? I only wanted to know what was happening! And I am not lying! Peter did bring me here!" She knew it was no use. The spring in their steps caught her completely off guard. They all lunged at the same moment, but Wendy managed to dodge all three.

"Kill the Wendybird!" Shouted the youngest. Wendy ran for her life, desperate to escape the boys. They had the home advantage, knowing every route and passage of the Neverland like the back of their filthy hands. Wendy decided to take the risk of heading into the unknown forest. She ran through the thickets, not minding where her bare feet stepped. The boys weren't far behind her. Continuing the chase, they separated in order to cover more ground. Arrows sailed past Wendy's head. She could hear them connecting with the trees around her. From behind, the screams were getting closer, coming from different directions. They had somehow surrounded her. The arrows stopped. And Wendy, breathing heavily, hid in a gap between two trees. Then she heard a hideously cracked voice call to her from over her head.

"Take hand!" Wendy looked up and screamed. Inches from her face was a small hand belonging to the ugliest creature she had ever seen. His face was covered in warts and boils, his clothes were drenched in dried mud and smelled of old earth.

"They come!" He croaked. Wendy reached for the hand and he instantly pulled her up. "You climb?" He asked. She nodded, and together they scaled the tree.

"Hurry!" He shouted down at Wendy, who did her very best to keep up with the creature, but he was so quick that it was difficult to even see which direction he was heading. From far below, Wendy could see that the boys were scrambling to find her. Finally the creature stopped, and pulled her onto a thick branch they both sat on. Wendy had been pushed to an exhaustion she had never experienced. Little spots kept popping at both corners of her eyes, and she felt as though she could pass out at any moment. The creature, on the other hand, did not look at all tired. He took a pouch of water from his hip and handed it to Wendy. She drank without thinking. Every last drop breathed new life into her body, and her fatigue began to subside.

Wendy finally got a good luck at him as she handed back the empty pouch. She did her best not to make a face.

"Thank you," She said. The creature smiled back at her and took a drink of the pouch. Wendy was astonished to see trails of water run down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, but I had thought I emptied it! I drank without thinking, but I'm glad there was still some in there." The creature put the pouch back on his side and giggled. Wendy continued to gaze at the creature, looking past the repulsive boils, the long thin nose, and his over-sized ears that hung in between his balding, wrinkled head. Their eyes met, and she noticed they carried the faintest color of violet.

"Are you human?" She asked, though she knew it couldn't possibly be a human. The creature only stood an inch over two feet, and his climbing skills resembled that of some sort of primate. He wrinkled his nose and shook his head aggressively.

"Me no human!" He shouted.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you." The creature summoned all his height and pounded hard on his chest.

"Me name Buggie! Me last Bugul Noz!" He pounded his chest two more times. Wendy stood up, well balanced on the branch, and bowed.

"Well then, Buggie, I am in your debt for saving me. Thank you." Wendy reached out for Buggie's small hand, and shook it. The skin underneath his boils turned pink. He giggled, and shook her hand aggressively. Wendy laughed.

"You run away?" He asked her. Wendy bit her lip, unsure of how to respond. The simple answer would be yes, she did leave her home without her parents permission, and worse, dragged her brothers along with her. Had she any plans of returning home to No. 27? She didn't know. Instead of answering, she only smiled at the creature. Suddenly, she remembered where she had heard that name.

"I've read about you! You're the last of your kind, aren't you?" Wendy wished she hadn't mentioned a word. The creatures kind expression shifted into a contorted half-smile. He began to bawl uncontrollably, and Wendy, fearing the boys would hear him, tried her best to console him.

"Oh _please don't!" _She said, trying to stroke his thinning hair. This only caused the hideous little thing to retreat further up the tree, screaming with all his might. Far down below, Wendy saw the tallest boy from earlier now scaling the tree. She began to break off smaller nearby branches and aiming her throws in his direction. She ripped off a large branch, and raised it over her head to throw it. As she held the thick branch overhead, calculating her throw, Wendy felt something hit the back of her head very hard. She became very dizzy and weak, and before anything else happened, her arms gave way, and the branch feel on top of her head.

For several seconds, Wendy tip-toed the line of consciousness. Her vision blurred, and her head burned in the spots she was hit. Very faintly, like it came from far away, she could hear a voice call out in celebration, "I got her! I did it!"

And then she felt someone pick her up. She didn't fight, she couldn't fight. Her body betrayed her, her mind was broken. All she could do now was hope to slip into a deep sleep. She felt it coming, her vision got very blurry, but she couldn't even close her eyelids. The creature, Buggie, was gone. She could hear his sobs continuing, but there was no guilt in her heart for the thing that gave away her position. Finally, the last wave of pain became too much, and Wendy passed out just as the boys reached the forest floor.


	9. Peter & The Lost Boys

PETER AND THE LOST BOYS

"It was my rock! I decide what we do with her!"

"You're too small to think you could make such big decisions, Tootles!"

"Damn it all! You never let me do anything!"

"We let you do enough! And you're lucky you didn't hit Miles with that rock, he had excellent position just underneath the branch!"

The squabbling continued all through the autumn forest. Ace, the tallest and oldest, carried Wendy by her arms, while Miles and Tootles each took a leg. The three were headed in the opposite direction of the Hangman's Tree, where the old pirate remained, still blindfolded and his neck tied in a noose.

"We will take her to the Underhome. Peter will decide what to do with her." Ace said. Tootles hummed while he skipped along happily. He was the youngest of any of the lost boys, and was therefore not allowed into battle unless absolutely necessary. This was his first chase, and he was thrilled to have been the one to deliver capture.

"Peter will be so pleased with me!" He cheered.

Finally the boys were out of the woods, and in a brightly lit field plush with different species of flower. The three looked around for a path, but there was nothing but long, thriving fields in front of them. Frustrated, Ace dropped Wendy on the grass and began to look further across the field for a path.

"Did Thomas forget to clear this spot again?!" He yelled. The other two let go of Wendy's legs and began to help him. "I swear that kid'll hear it from me when they return."

As Ace continued to look for any signs of the path, Tootles and Miles played among the flowers, chasing bees and wrestling. As it always happens, the playful sparring eventually turned into a real scuffle, ending with Miles locking tootles up in a painful leg tie.

"You should know better than to try to bite, Tootles!" Miles called out after letting him go. Ace laughed, and Tootles wiped his tears away, careful not to let them see. He walked along a small bed of red roses, tulips and daisies. He stopped to smell them, something he always made sure to do when coming along a fresh cluster of regional flora.

Wendy hadn't moved an inch. Tootles carefully plucked the prettiest tulip he could find in the the bed, and picked the small leaves off with his dirty fingers. Ace and Miles watched him walk over to Wendy, who looked quite lovely laying in the spring grass, and placed the flower neatly in her hair.

"She looks like my mother," He whispered. The other two approached her slowly. Ace no longer cared for the path, Miles no longer laughed at Tootles. All three of them now only cared about Wendy. Perhaps she represented to them now, in the clearing, something they've longed for, but couldn't quite understand. Every bird came out of hiding near the edge of the forest and sang through the leaves. Miles took a stick and nudged her.

"I don't think she will wake." He said. But before either of the two boys near him could retort, Tinkerbelle flew through the trees straight toward them. Instantly the spell cast by Wendy's grace was broken.

"Tink!" Ace cried, "What news!" Miles and Tootles bounced up and down trying to catch her, and started fighting each other again. Tinkerbelle waived them away and got closer to Ace.

"Thomas is injured!" Ace cried. The other two boys got up quickly to listen. Tinkerbelle acted out what happened, explaining how Peter had brought three new children to the Island, how Hook had known an ambush might occur, and that Wendy had gone missing after. Finally when she finished, she wanted to know if the three had seen anyone near the Island. Ace and Miles both looked at Tootles, who had been trying to block Wendy from Tinkerbelle's view. He moved to the side, allowing her to see Wendy laying in the fresh spring grass, the tulip still resting in her hair. Tinkerbelle gaped at the still body, and then at poor Tootles, who had begun to cry again, not caring who saw this time.

"Peter's going to be mad with me, isn't he, Tink?" He sobbed. But before she could respond, just as she began to approach Tootles, they all heard the crow of Peter, echoing from the south east. Tootles looked around at the other two boys, and at Wendy. They were just about as much help to him now as she was. Several moments later, the rest of the boys had come through the end of the forest, looking exhausted and disquieted.

At the front of the clan was John, his shirt stained red, his eyeglasses slightly hunched to the side, and a sword gripped tightly in his hand. Behind him were both the Cunning Twins, Tim and Phil, struggling to carry a screaming Thomas. Ace ran over to help the lot, while Miles took Tootles by the shoulder and led him away from the scene. Tailing the group was the boy called Pockets, who was rescued from the Jolly Roger.

John ran straight for Wendy upon seeing her body, dropping his sword to the ground. Tootles backed away even further now, while Ace and Miles walked towards John.

"Who are you?" Ace asked him curiously. John looked up, ignoring his question.

"Who did this?" He asked, his voice carried more hate in it than volume. He shook his sister gently. From across the field, Thomas writhed in pain, his cut wide open. John looked from his sister to Thomas, asking anyone around for an explanation, but before anyone could answer, Peter had come down from over the tall trees, carrying Michael who, like John and Wendy, had lost his ability to fly.

Peter dropped Michael onto the grass from several feet in the air, and crowed once more, clearly not paying any attention to the bodies laying on the ground.

"Great news, boys!" He cried, "I have brought you all a storyteller! Why is no one cheering my return?" Peter floated to the ground. Thomas lay further away, with the Cunning twins cleaning his wound. But Peter's attention was spent on John and the body under him. Ace, Miles, Pockets and Tootles stood around, watching. Peter kneeled near Wendy, who had not so much as twitched since being brought to this part of the Neverland by the lost boys. He stood up straight.

"Who did this?" He said, in a voice as cold as John's. Everyone looked around guiltily, in search of the culprit. Ace and Miles said nothing, but Tootles stepped forward, and Peter's eyes widened, bursting with color.

"Ay, Peter," He said, reaching into a bag he carried around his shoulders. He watched Tootles, his tongue hanging off the corner of his lips, until he pulled out a jagged arrow, and handed it to Peter. He looked from the arrow to Tootles, who had pulled down the front of his filthy shirt, baring his small chest.

"Strike, Peter," He said, beginning to sob again, "Strike true." John looked from Tootles to Peter, unsure of what was to come next. Tinkerbelle floated above the scene, not wishing to intervene. A small wind aroused the grass surrounding everyone, and Peter raised the arrow, projecting his aim at Tootles' heart.

"Wait!"

Everyone turned, and Peter hesitated, turning to see John, a smile widening on his face, as Wendy began to stir.

"She lives!" He cried. Wendy's eyes slowly opened, revealing their beautiful honey color, and she reached for the painful knot in the back of her head. John took the bag from Tootles, who was as shocked as everyone else, and placed it under her head. Michael had been on her other side, tearing Theodore limb from limb. She smiled up at him and spoke very weakly.

"Oh Michael, we will have to fix this now, won't we?" She hugged him tightly, and John joined in. Wendy noticed the color of John's shirt, and began to pull it up expecting to see fatal wounds, but he stopped her, assuringly. Peter handed Tootles back the arrow.

"Can you walk?" John asked Wendy. She shook her head, looking weaker still.

"I would like to sleep some more." And just as quickly as she had awoken, she slipped into another deep slumber.

"She needs to rest." Said Peter. The boys looked around, unsure of what to do next.

"Should we carry her?" Asked Tim. Everyone agreed, but Peter stopped them before they reached out to lift her.

"Hands," He said. Every boy put out pairs of hands. Not a single finger was clean, in fact, every hand held strong collections of either blood, dirt, or sweat. Peter stood thoughtfully for a moment, then called his lost boys into a huddle. Thomas laid hopelessly far off to the side, trying to see what was happening.

"We shall build a house around her!" Everyone, especially the Cunnings, who were the official carpenters of the Neverland, cheered. They continued to huddle around Peter patiently, as he began to give his orders.

"Cunnings, you two are in charge of the home. Make sure it's comfy, and well protected. Michael and Tootles will help fetch wood from the forest." Peter directed his attention at the older boys now. "Ace and Miles will help me carry Thomas to the Underhome. John, I have no time to question the new boy, so you keep a close eye on him." John took a hold of one of Pockets' arms, who looked around worriedly.

"Don't worry," Miles assured him, "It's only customary. Peter needs to make sure you've not been made a pirate." Pockets nodded at him curiously.

As the boys began to break up into their groups, Tinkerbelle floated towards Peter, finally landing on his shoulder.

"Tink," He whispered, "Tell me what Hook has done with their bodies." Tinkerbelle knew that Peter was referring to both Hicks and Edwin, the lost boys who had been killed fighting on the Jolly Roger earlier. She nodded, somberly, and was gone. Peter knew Miles and Ace would take the news very hard, and it was only because of this, that he had picked the pair to help him with a job he could have done alone in half the time. He also knew that by telling the two most experienced fighters aside from Thomas, that the news would trickle down warmly to the young.

It was never an easy thing for Peter, who had dealt with so many deaths in his life amongst the boys, to be the one to deliver the news to his comrades. There was no comfort to be given, and the mourning period would have to be quick, for he knew that Hook would quickly devise a counter strike using pirates from the Village not far away. Still, he did his best to make sure his group stayed tight, that nobody wandered stray. Peter was in fact, a great leader in this respect, capable of inspiring the living and still honoring the fallen.

While they carried Thomas to the Underhome, Peter delivered the news. Thomas bit his lip while Peter spoke, not wanting to interrupt, but the pain was becoming unbearable. Twice they had to stop for him. Ace took the flask from his pouch and gave it to Thomas.

"Does this mean we're ok?" He asked. Ace shrugged. Peter had flown up high to make sure everyone back at the flower beds was safe, and fulfilling his instructions.

"Who killed Edwin?" Ace asked. Thomas took a long drink of Neverwater from the flask, coughed, and cleared his throat.

"Jansen. I saw it happen. He fought bravely, Edwin did. He took one of Jansen's fingers." Ace watched Peter, admiring his stealth, then turned to Thomas, whose wound looked much worse now.

"Thank you," He said, taking the flask from Thomas and finishing it off, except for a small amount, which he poured into the dirt.


	10. Building The House

BUILDING THE HOUSE

The lost boys—including Wendy's brothers now—worked tirelessly all through out the day, making exactly sure that the house they built for Wendy was not only comfortable, but provided her with adequate protection from the creatures the Neverland was home to. Tim and Phil wrote out schematics in the dirt, shouting instructions for the rest to hear.

"There should be a door near the base, here!" Said Tim, pointing a stick in one direction.

"But make sure you take into account the circumference of the room you have. We don't want any miscalculations now, do we?" Retorted Phil.

John, Pockets, Tootles, and Michael all shook their heads, and nodded in agreement when pretending to understand their complicated instructions. Tootles and Micheal went off into the shallow parts of the forest to collect small twigs to use as binds. John was happy to see that they got along well, and that Micheal had no anxieties about leaving John, who had the more difficult duties to perform, such as building the house walls, frame and roofing.

"Come on, Michael!" Cried Tootles, jumping over flower beds and slapping the trunks of trees. Michael chased after him, laughing in his wake. Together they walked along the edge of the forest, chuckling at the funny looking animals who occasionally made their presence noticed. Tootles enjoyed being the more experienced of the two, pointing out certain trees and plants to Michael, who listened intently and hung on every word.

"You see those?" He said, directing Michael's attention to a tall Eucalyptus tree.

"They're called Kissers. At night, they bend towards each other, like if the wind's pushing them, and their branches touch. They give off the most wonderful scents, and the leaves could be used as an antidote against weak poisons."

Michael pulled several leaves off the tree to smell them, but Tootles quickly slapped them away and pulled Michael away, as the tree's thick branches began to lash out at him.

"They're very temper mental!" Tootles explained as they avoided the powerful swings.

By the time the house was finished — Tootles had just hurried back with Michael, carrying a vase filled with various flowers — it was nearly dusk. John had asked the boys how far their home was from here, and they assured him that enough security had been placed around the small house to warn them of any intruders. Tim also pointed out that there would be one watcher each night, and they were all to pick acorns to decide who gets first watch. But they would have to wait for Peter to return with Miles and Ace, in order for every participant to have a fair drawing.

Of course Peter expected the journey to take long on foot, but never had he imagined it to be so physically taxing. Flying, he decided, was vastly superior to having to walk all the way around Mermaid Lagoon, past the Summer Lake and through the Summer Forest, carrying Thomas's upper body as the other two took a leg, similar to how Wendy had been carried just hours ago. Ace and Miles joked with Peter as they often did, for they were now at an age in which they were more relatable to him. Peter enjoyed the talking, for it was often about his adventures, and he would allow them both to share in their own experiences as long as they weren't too long or boring. Peter had no remorse for the inevitable time when Ace and Miles would be too old to make jokes, and thus would most likely be banished. He hardly ever thought of this grim truth, for it was simply the way of things for as long as he could remember. The boys weren't allowed to be a certain age, for once they reached it, they were no longer boys. Peter had the duty of casting many of the growing boys away, allowing Tinkerbelle to take them back to their original homes with small sacks of gold, provided by the Redskins. Once in a while, though, a boy would not wish to go, for they had fallen in love with the Neverland, and thought they had developed enough skill to claim the Island for themselves. A foolish thought, and Peter regretted the boys who took him on.

Finally, after the blisters on Ace's hands had reached a pain he could no longer ignore, he cheered for the sight of the end of the Summer Forest. Peter stopped to let everyone rest, and to make sure nobody had been following them.

"How are you, Thomas?" Peter asked.

"Not so well," Thomas replied, "I think it's infected." Peter and the two others set Thomas down gently in the grassy knoll just in front of the Summer Forest. Thomas grunted in pain, obviously trying to hide it. He reached for Peter's arm, and gave him a look Peter understood immediately.

"Ace, Miles, go up ahead, make sure it's safe." Without hesitation, they were off. Peter reached for Thomas's shirt, and pulled the bloodstained material up to reveal the cut, and it was far worse than he could have ever imagined. The skin surrounding the wound was a violent shade of brown, and the odor coming from it made Peter wrench back. It appeared as though the skin itself was rotting by the second.

"Hook's work, Peter," Said Thomas, smiling slightly. "I won't recover from this."

Peter hid the wound from sight. Thomas was right, he thought. They had spent days together spying on the ship, and had uncovered that Hook always kept his weapons, particularly his steel hand, dipped in toxic chemicals. It was a tactic he stole from the redskins, whose arrows emit a poison that paralyzes instantly.

The white in Thomas's eyes was growing red, his breathing had become shorter and further apart. He grabbed at Peter, choking now as he tried to speak. Now he no longer hid the pain, but it was difficult to talk. Peter pulled away for only a moment, until he realized Thomas trying to tell him one last thing.

"_H—H-Hook…h-has…t-the p-pi…p-pi…"_ Despite his efforts, Thomas couldn't finish his last word. The poison had traveled all through his blood stream, at last reaching it's destination through the bloodstream all the way up into his heart, and stopping it. Peter watched the life leave Thomas, his reddened eyes becoming glossy, his skin growing faint.


	11. James Hook's Hidden Lament

BUILDING THE HOUSE

The lost boys—including Wendy's brothers now—worked tirelessly all through out the day, making exactly sure that the house they built for Wendy was not only comfortable, but provided her with adequate protection from the creatures the Neverland was home to. Tim and Phil wrote out schematics in the dirt, shouting instructions for the rest to hear.

"There should be a door near the base, here!" Said Tim, pointing a stick in one direction.

"But make sure you take into account the circumference of the room you have. We don't want any miscalculations now, do we?" Retorted Phil.

John, Pockets, Tootles, and Michael all shook their heads, and nodded in agreement when pretending to understand their complicated instructions. Tootles and Micheal went off into the shallow parts of the forest to collect small twigs to use as binds. John was happy to see that they got along well, and that Micheal had no anxieties about leaving John, who had the more difficult duties to perform, such as building the house walls, frame and roofing.

"Come on, Michael!" Cried Tootles, jumping over flower beds and slapping the trunks of trees. Michael chased after him, laughing in his wake. Together they walked along the edge of the forest, chuckling at the funny looking animals who occasionally made their presence noticed. Tootles enjoyed being the more experienced of the two, pointing out certain trees and plants to Michael, who listened intently and hung on every word.

"You see those?" He said, directing Michael's attention to a tall Eucalyptus tree.

"They're called Kissers. At night, they bend towards each other, like if the wind's pushing them, and their branches touch. They give off the most wonderful scents, and the leaves could be used as an antidote against weak poisons."

Michael pulled several leaves off the tree to smell them, but Tootles quickly slapped them away and pulled Michael away, as the tree's thick branches began to lash out at him.

"They're very temper mental!" Tootles explained as they avoided the powerful swings.

By the time the house was finished — Tootles had just hurried back with Michael, carrying a vase filled with various flowers — it was nearly dusk. John had asked the boys how far their home was from here, and they assured him that enough security had been placed around the small house to warn them of any intruders. Tim also pointed out that there would be one watcher each night, and they were all to pick acorns to decide who gets first watch. But they would have to wait for Peter to return with Miles and Ace, in order for every participant to have a fair drawing.

Of course Peter expected the journey to take long on foot, but never had he imagined it to be so physically taxing. Flying, he decided, was vastly superior to having to walk all the way around Mermaid Lagoon, past the Summer Lake and through the Summer Forest, carrying Thomas's upper body as the other two took a leg, similar to how Wendy had been carried just hours ago. Ace and Miles joked with Peter as they often did, for they were now at an age in which they were more relatable to him. Peter enjoyed the talking, for it was often about his adventures, and he would allow them both to share in their own experiences as long as they weren't too long or boring. Peter had no remorse for the inevitable time when Ace and Miles would be too old to make jokes, and thus would most likely be banished. He hardly ever thought of this grim truth, for it was simply the way of things for as long as he could remember. The boys weren't allowed to be a certain age, for once they reached it, they were no longer boys. Peter had the duty of casting many of the growing boys away, allowing Tinkerbelle to take them back to their original homes with small sacks of gold, provided by the Redskins. Once in a while, though, a boy would not wish to go, for they had fallen in love with the Neverland, and thought they had developed enough skill to claim the Island for themselves. A foolish thought, and Peter regretted the boys who took him on.

Finally, after the blisters on Ace's hands had reached a pain he could no longer ignore, he cheered for the sight of the end of the Summer Forest. Peter stopped to let everyone rest, and to make sure nobody had been following them.

"How are you, Thomas?" Peter asked.

"Not so well," Thomas replied, "I think it's infected." Peter and the two others set Thomas down gently in the grassy knoll just in front of the Summer Forest. Thomas grunted in pain, obviously trying to hide it. He reached for Peter's arm, and gave him a look Peter understood immediately.

"Ace, Miles, go up ahead, make sure it's safe." Without hesitation, they were off. Peter reached for Thomas's shirt, and pulled the bloodstained material up to reveal the cut, and it was far worse than he could have ever imagined. The skin surrounding the wound was a violent shade of brown, and the odor coming from it made Peter wrench back. It appeared as though the skin itself was rotting by the second.

"Hook's work, Peter," Said Thomas, smiling slightly. "I won't recover from this."

Peter hid the wound from sight. Thomas was right, he thought. They had spent days together spying on the ship, and had uncovered that Hook always kept his weapons, particularly his steel hand, dipped in toxic chemicals. It was a tactic he stole from the redskins, whose arrows emit a poison that paralyzes instantly.

The white in Thomas's eyes was growing red, his breathing had become shorter and further apart. He grabbed at Peter, choking now as he tried to speak. Now he no longer hid the pain, but it was difficult to talk. Peter pulled away for only a moment, until he realized Thomas trying to tell him one last thing.

"_H—H-Hook…h-has…t-the p-pi…p-pi…"_ Despite his efforts, Thomas couldn't finish his last word. The poison had traveled all through his blood stream, at last reaching it's destination through the bloodstream all the way up into his heart, and stopping it. Peter watched the life leave Thomas, his reddened eyes becoming glossy, his skin growing faint.

JAMES HOOK'S HIDDEN LAMENT

The Neverland was in a calm slumber this warm evening. Most of the animals of the island rested soundly deep within the forests, while several nocturnal beasts spent this time wisely to hunt. A cool, salty wind picked up just near the shores of the island where a small, spotted owl soared over the nearby trees seeking out a field mouse it had seen wandering erroneously close to the Autumn Forest.

The owl came to rest on a wide branch protruding out of an old beech tree, whose darkened leaves provided her with enough cover to stay hidden. Down near the floor of the forest, a thick fog draped itself lazily over the dirt and heavy roots belonging to the trees. The setting at the moment was mild and inactive, aside from the various determined whistles and chirps from nearby birds and bugs. Atop the beech tree, the owl waited patiently, her claws digging deeper into the wood of the branch, her breathing slowing down as each second passed. She was rearing for an attack, aching for any sort of error on the part of her potential prey. And then, as luck would have it, something small near a network of twisted roots motioned it's body, causing the fog to stir ever so slightly, and the owl darted head first at the disturbance. The pother caused by her wings separated the fog like a departing spirit, allowing her to easily seek out her prey, scoop up it's tail and set off.

She departed north for a darker part of the woods with her trophy well in place, struggling to break free. It squeaked as loud as it could, pulling and writhing it's body in protest, now completely aware of it's inevitable doom awaiting just several hundred yards away in the owl's nesting. It's echoes could be heard all through the forest as the owl carried it off, her wings grabbing at the midnight air with their every flap. The sound burned through the silence of the forest, as it traveled over the trees, past the shores and over the waters to a ship sitting in the ocean like an old abandoned buoy.

On the deck near the port, Smee sat off the ship's side, listening intently at the shrieking sound of the field mouse, it's echoes growing fainter still. In his hands were a small pocket knife and a healthy piece of basswood, which he was attempting to carve. As he worked, humming all the while, enjoying the ship's tug and pull of the waves underneath, he heard the heavy steps of his captain approaching from behind. Smee bothered not to turn, instead he continued to hum his song as the ship danced among the waves.

"Clear skies, tonight, sir. The waves are calm, and the temperature couldn't be more pleasant," Said Smee.

"You wished to see me, Smee?" Spoke Hook as he stared out at the silhouette of the sleeping Neverland.

"Ay, Cap'n. We'd been needin' to talk for some time now."

"I am always up for a small chit-chat, as you know. What is it that is on your mind?"

"The boy."

"Yes?"

"He's back."

"Yes."

"You notice the difference his presence has made."

"The Neverland?"

"Ay, The Neverland. It's almost as though it's behavior changes, donnit? Like he and the island could share some sort of connection? Jus' yesterday, I couldn' get a read on the skies. The ice atop the mountains were melting, while other spots o' the island rained like I ain' ever seen. It ain' righ', Cap'n. This boy, he has powers that maybe he isn't aware of. Who knows what he could be capable of, then?"

Through out the entire time Smee spoke, he continued to cut at the basswood in his hands, more aggressively as the time passed. Hook had not responded, and Smee's cuts became deeper and harsher. There was a tinge of annoyance on his face reserved for his captain, who he so trusted, admired and feared. The adrenaline had kicked in, for the words Smee was about to utter, most would consider as blasphemy, but he saw it as his duty to make Hook aware of the general consensus regarding the crew's moral.

"Cap'n, we've been here a long time."

"Ay."

"So then, why don't we go? You've figured out the portal again, just like we did in the beginning. There's plenty of gold in our world. The men are tired, they miss their families. Who knows how long this war could last-"

Smee had known all the while that he was flirting with danger, but this was new territory even for him. Hook's speed cut through the silent night. Smee jumped back as Hook ripped deep into the collar of his shirt and pulled him in close. Smee had dropped both the knife and the unfinished basswood carving down into the ocean. He felt Hook's warm breath upon his face like an unpleasant splash of kerosene. Hook's eyes glinted in the moonlight like two pieces of obsidian, inspecting every part of Smee's face. Finally Hook whispered to his sailing master, his left hand resting assuredly on the flintlock in his pocket, aimed right at Smee's belly.

"War educates the senses, calls into action the will, perfects the physical constitution, brings men into such swift and close collision in critical moments that man measures man. Emerson, Smee."

Hook then released his sailing master and departed for his quarters. As he passed the foremast, he stared up at the mutilated body belonging to the lost boy Hicks, still hanging from the top. By now the body was beginning to rot, and several of the weapons the crew had thrown up at it had fallen out and onto the deck as birds began to take snaps at it. Hook then turned back to Smee and gestured at the body.

"They're only children. Surely the men aren't afraid of a group of small boys."


	12. Tinkerbelle's Findings

TINKERBELLE'S FINDINGS

Thomas's body had grown stiff and very cold by the time Ace had returned with Miles on his trail, blowing hard on a handmade bamboo flute intended to signal that the path was safe. Peter explained to the two that Thomas had simply fallen into a deep sleep, and had stopped breathing shortly after. There seemed no reason to reveal to either of them Thomas's warning just before his last breath. Neither boy wept, but Ace, having just slightly patched up an old quarrel with Thomas, took from his pocket a handkerchief and tied it to his wrist.

Peter ordered the two to go back to the others, while he would stay behind to dress Thomas's wound and prepare the pyre. He asked that they both keep Thomas's death private until he returned, a request that neither boy questioned before departing back in the direction of the autumn forest and the plush fields where Wendy's home was being built. Tinkerbelle had still not returned, and more than ever Peter longed for her company. Three deaths in one day, caused by same battle. One in which they had failed their prime objective: Getting a hold of the glass jar holding the bright light.

Peter had been tipped off by none other than Tootles days earlier, who claimed he had been warned by the Bugul Noz who roamed the autumn forests. Skeptical as Peter was of any advice coming from the clumsiest member of his clan, he appointed a small bat named Murina to stalk the ship, and to keep an eye out for anything tootles described. Two days afterwords, Murina had returned to Peter, and revealed to him the possibility that Hook had in his possession, an elder pixie. The news of this possibility had Peter floored. There was no telling if Hook knew of the power in his possession, what keys he could unlock, what destruction he could reign, or if Hook had only intended on using the captured creature as a ransom. A Pixie's powers, not unlike Peter's, comes from the Neverland itself. There is no telling what could happen to a society if an extension of itself is denied it's freedoms.

Peter cut through the dampened shirt of his dead comrade. The bright sun in the sky was descending now, into the soft landscape of the winter mountains. Overhead, Peter gazed at the twin moons, both of which had captured the delicate fusion of pinks and greens cascading across the rest of the sky by the warm sun like an oil painting that still needed to dry. By now, the first stars had begun to make themselves noticed in the firmament. They winked down at Peter in brilliant clusters, manufacturing abstract patterns with no agenda in mind. He continued to admire them, noting in his head the stars arriving more abundantly, some blue, some red, some popping like pulsating never-bugs who had eaten gluttonously, and some that burned like the color of ripened diamonds. And just as the show had reached it's climax, when every diamond light had made itself aware, that is when Peter's best friend, using the skylight entertainment as her decoy, returned to him.

Tinkerbelle explained, in the middle of exhaustive gasps for breath, of the horrors Hook had subjected Hicks' and Edwin's bodies to. She explained how Edwin had been tied to the ship's stern, as his open wounds attracted all manner of hungry beasts to take turns reaching for a bite. She told Peter how Hicks had been tied by his feet and raised over the foremast, as the crew took turns pitching knives, small sandbags, and mud from the bottom of their boots at him. She explained all of this, expecting a reaction from Peter. Perhaps she had anticipated a retraction from his current activity, however trivial it was, to immediately form a plan of retaliation. She was beside herself, burning a mild scarlet, as she watched Peter quietly gather wood, nodding to himself, unwilling to share his thoughts. Finally, after waiting for what seemed like far too long to her, Peter spoke.

"I need one more favor from you tonight." Tinkerbelle was ready to curse Peter with an aggregation of well-executed vulgarities, and as she rose higher up, she caught a glimpse of the bloodied hand buried deep in the well placed pile of wood. Tinkerbelle looked from the hand to Peter, small tears welling up in her little eyes.

"I need your fire, Tink." He said.


	13. Wendy Awakens

WENDY AWAKENS

A bright blaze of pain shot in each temple, pulsating like continuous knocks on a door whose hinges had nearly been ripped out of the wood by their repetitious force. Outside, a small, purple bird was singing a song in high pitched whistles that became so loud, the notes shot straight through the pain in Wendy's head and roused her up. This was the second time now that she had been knocked unconscious. Her breathing patterns were unsteady and hollow, and she had to take a few moments to gather herself accordingly. She continued to stay sunken into the material stuffed with soft feathers. Looking over the side of what appeared to be a bed, there was a small, wooden table where a vase holding a brilliant yellow flower rested. Smiling, she leaned in to smell the scent, hoping it had come from Peter.

Wendy decided to rise from the bed to have a better look around. The only available window let in just enough of the sun setting outside to illuminate most of the room. The floor had been laid with various fur rugs, and in between, the exposed dirt and grass had been swept and cut neatly. Wendy found that walking in her bare feet was quite comfortable, and she wandered over to the back wall where several poorly made frames hung crooked, each holding drawings of little boys shooting arrows, sleeping in a large bed underneath the ground, and picking colorful wild flowers in a meadow. But one picture in particular startled Wendy. One of several boys running with much taller men dressed only in long loincloths, holding spears and bringing down what looked to be a poorly drawn buffalo. Wendy inched closer to try to make out which lost boys were running with these natives, until a voice came from just behind her ear that startled her so much, she swung back with all her strength, connecting with the side of the neck of Phil Cunning.

"Aggh!" He cried, falling face down to the floor, rubbing his jaw. "Whys that all for?!"

Wendy immediately began to apologize as she helped him back onto his feet. For a split second, she believed him to be perhaps one of the boys who had chased her all through the forest, or worse — any one of the ruthless pirates from earlier.

"I'm so sorry!" She pleaded, "Are you okay? Here, let me help you-"

Phil stepped back away from her, still rubbing the side of his neck and jaw, and looking rather upset. But as a passionate carpenter and builder, he was still anxious to know what Wendy had thought of the house. So he casted away any angry thoughts at the moment to seize a verdict from Wendy on his handy work.

"Never mind, never mind. My name is Phil. Phil Cunning. So? How'dya like it all, then?" He asked, as he extended his arms all around the room. Wendy's eyes widened with astonishment.

"You built this?" She asked. Phil blushed, still holding onto the side of his face.

"Well, not just me, but I did design the outer framing and most of the-"

"Ahem!"  
Wendy shot around to the door, as a face exactly identical to that of Phil poked in through it.

"Phil, now I know you weren't going to take all the credit for my work, now, were you?" Cried Tim, walking into the room with all the swagger of a parent who had just caught his son with his hand in the cookie jar. Phil's eyes narrowed on his brother.

"Well, I was jus' explainin' to the Wendybird that her house-"

"That we built-"

"Ay, that we all built- is as safe and secure as a pearl in a clamshell." Phil finished through clenched teeth, as Tim swooped in on Wendy's hand, bowing so low to the floor that when he finally raised back up, there was a small spot of dirt on his nose.

"Fear not, Wendybird. We have built you a reliable home. A bit small, mind you." Said Tim as he accidentally bumped into his brother, who immediately returned the bump.

"Allow me the pleasure of introductions," He continued, still holding Wendy's hand. "My name is Timothy Cunning, but the boys all call me Tim. This here's my brother, Phil, but you can just call him Gawky, on account of his lack of ability to hold a steady—Ouch!"

Tim was bouncing on one foot, while holding the other, while Phil looked on with a wide grin as he picked up a hammer from the floor.

"Butterfingers, Timmy!" He cried. "Anyway, the others are anxious to meet you, Wendy, C'mon!" Phil pulled Wendy towards the door, then stopped suddenly.

"Almost forgot!" He took out a filthy handkerchief and handed it to Wendy. She took the hint immediately, but was apprehensive about putting that particular handkerchief anywhere near her face.

"Goodness," She exclaimed, smiling with all her teeth towards Phil, "More surprises? Would it be all right if I just used my hands?"

Before waiting for an answer, she had covered here eyes completely. Phil guided her out through the door and several steps after that. Wendy could feel, as she walked, a warm fire nearby, and the presence of hushed whispers. Finally after many moments, she opened her eyes and before her stood six boys, including her two brothers, covered head to toe in dirt. Before Wendy could even take a step, though, one of the boys, Pockets, approached Wendy wearing a stern look on his face. She stared as he walked right up to her. In his belt was a rusted sword and an old slingshot. He stopped just in front of her, looking up unblinkingly. The other boys didn't make a sound, and the only thing to be heard was the crackling of a nearby fire. Then the boy did something Wendy had not expected, he dropped down to one single knee, and then spoke.

"Miss Wendybird, for you we have built this house with our own bare hands." And as though this was the cue the rest of the lot was waiting for, they all instantaneously bent down on the same knee and dropped their heads and shouted in unison, "Please be our mother!"

Wendy gasped, for never in her whole life had she imagined being a mother to anybody, let alone a small flock of renegade children. And never did she think she'd see her own two brothers actually beg her for anything other than stories.

"Well…" She started, staring down at the little, hopeful expressions, "You see, I've no real experience being a mother."

"Can you tell us stories? Of adventure?" Chimed in Pockets.

"Well, yes, I know lots of them," Wendy answered.

"Then you're perfect," He said.

The rest all looked on like puppies anticipating a great treat. Had they each possessed a tail, they'd all be wagging so uncontrollably they'd probably start a small gust in the dirt where they kneeled. Finally, Wendy spoke.

"Very well, I shall be your mother." The whole group cheered in an uproar, and in all the excitement, nobody noticed Tootles who had been in the far back, sitting in the dirt by himself. Wendy walked over to him, recognizing him almost instantly. But there was no anger in her heart for the boy, as she watched him weep, his tears streaking off his nose and into a small puddle in the dirt.

"It really was an excellent throw," She said in reference to the events from earlier in an attempt to make him laugh. He sniffed lightly, and the faintest smile made itself visible on his mouth.

"I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't know you were telling us the truth-" Wendy had pulled Tootles into a warm hug, and this seemed to settle everything for him. The strength in her embrace was the antidote he needed, and all the guilt from earlier had been dismissed as just a bad memory, now.

"Mother, come get supper!" Cried Michael. Wendy thought it rather odd for her own brother to address her as "Mother," but she decided to shrug it off as nothing more than him playing along with the rest of the group.

"My name's Tootles!" Tootles exclaimed, walking with Wendy to where the group was huddled around the burning fire. "I'm in charge of the food around these parts!" He said proudly.

"Is that so?" Wendy said amused, "And what's on the menu for tonight?"

"Penguin eggs!" Tootles shouted happily. Wendy saw the boys peeling back the thin shells of large, white eggs, and taking large pieces into their mouths. John had just finished his second egg when he saw the look on his sister's face.

"They're quite good, Mother. Here," He handed her a freshly peeled, hard boiled egg about the size of a football. Wendy smelled it expecting something foul, but it was the most lovely scent she had sniffed all day. Her stomach growled heartily, and Wendy, as dignified as she could, began taking large bites of the warm egg. Phil, whose mouth was so full of egg that he couldn't chew with his mouth closed, tried to ask Tootles a question.

"Froam-wetch-arwea-dedjya-fin-deh-eggsh-too-olsh?" Everyone laughed, and Tootles explained about the new nests deep in the Winter Mountains.

"Dere-Breein'-Sho-Ishokay!" Said Tootles with just as much egg in his mouth as Phil.

Wendy ate two more penguin eggs, which filled her up quite warmly. Tootles pressed her to eat more, but she refused as politely as she could. By this time the fire had nearly died out except for the embers. The boys hurdled around it, throwing twigs and dried grass occasionally to keep it barely lit. Wendy laid on the outside of the circle, admiring the night sky. The stars shown like brilliant candles suspended in mid-air. The nearby forest was in full bloom of various animal calls. Wendy shot a look to the boys, who were not paying any attention to her now, and decided to escape for several moments.

The twin moons provided her enough light to see the beauty of the jungle. The sounds coming from within did not appear threatening to Wendy, but still she kept her distance. The air was cool, and even though she had only her nightgown for warmth, it was enough. She walked along the side of the forest until something beautiful had caught her eye — a blue light floating several feet above the ground. It set Wendy into some strange trance, as she walked towards it, fixed with an unwavering stare. Curiosity burned in her, and it appeared that for every step she took, the blue light drifted further away. It wasn't until Wendy was in a brisk walk that she noticed how far away she was from the boys. The fire burned behind her now like a tiny star in a wide open sky. But in front of her, the blue light seemed to be calling, taunting her. Wendy walked on recklessly, not paying attention to her surroundings, as the blue light continued to lead her somewhere. But just as Wendy took another step, somebody pulled her back, putting two arms around her, and locking her in a tight grip.

"Let me go!" She cried, trying to free herself until she realized the person holding onto her was John.

"Are you insane?!" He yelled at her. "You were about to walk right off this cliff!" Wendy looked and saw that they were both a foot away from the edge of a very steep cliff that could have sent Wendy to her death. Confused, Wendy searched for the blue light to validate her case, that she had been following it, but it had disappeared.

"There was a light—and I—I was following—" Wendy was befuddled as ever. "But it was just there, right over there, I saw it! A blue light!"

The boys all wore looks of apprehension, unwilling to believe Wendy's story. But Tootles came to Wendy's defense.

"It could have been sapphires…" He spoke in a low voice.

"Cut it out, Tootles," Said Tim, "Everyone knows the sapphires are all gone."

"Gone for hundreds of years, you little buffoon." Said Phil, messing up Tootles' hair.

"What did the sapphires look like?" Asked Wendy. Tim gave her a repressed look.

"Well, similar to what you described. A solid blue light, and some say they could speak."

"And what were they?" Asked Wendy.

"Guardians, Pixies," Spoke Phil, "Mischievous little devils. They weren't like our Tink, no. They hated humans. Loved nothing more than to haunt and harass. But they haven't been seen for a long time. Not by any of us, at least." Wendy thought that if there was one person who would know for sure, it was Peter. Peter. For the first time, she missed him. And where was he? Why wasn't he there with her now?

"Peter's gone with Ace and Miles to the Underhome. They took Thomas, he didn't look good." Said Tootles, somberly. The rest looked down, nodding in agreement. Wendy had not yet met Thomas. As such, she was still trying to remember the names of the boys who stood in front of her. But it was John, who had removed his hat slowly and stepped forward to the group.

"I was hoping Peter would have delivered the news. That is to say, I've just met you all and I don't think it's right for me to say this, but since Peter isn't back yet, and it's been hours-"

"Out with it, then!" Said Tootles.

"Right, well, er-"

"Just say it, already!" Cried the Cunning Twins.

"Edwin and Hicks were killed. They're dead. That's why they aren't back."

Phil stood with his mouth open, with his brother right beside him sharing the same, vacant expression. It was as if in this moment, every boy on the Neverland was fighting to reject the words John had just said. Edwin and Hicks, beloved comrades, lost boys, dead.

"I was hoping Peter would have-"

"Yeah you said that already, didn't you?" Said Tim, rounding up on John.

"I just thought you all should know!" John answered back.

The feeling at that moment was one of an intense choler. John reached for Michael and pulled him behind Wendy. Tim and Phil, along with Tootles, seemed unable to hide their rueful anger. Pockets did his best to stay out of the way, wearing an expression built of fear, for it was him alone that the two boys had died. The seconds seemed to stretch like salt water taffy, as everybody did their best to avoid looking at one another, and for a long while nobody said a word, until Tootles spotted two small lights from deep within the Autumn Woods coming closer.

"It's them!" He cried happily, delighted for somebody to come and break the tension.

"Ho, Tootles!" Ace called.

"Ho, Ace! Where's Peter? How is Thomas?" Tootles was never afraid to ask too many questions in one breath. Ace exchanged a quick look with Miles, reminding him of Peter's request from earlier.

"Peter will be along. I see Wendy's awoken. How are you feeling, miss? My name is Ace, and this here is Miles." He shook Wendy's hand aggressively as he continued on.

"Listen, sorry about earlier. You know, almost killing you and what not, but it had more to do with us not knowing you. You can't be too careful around these parts, you see. Hook recruits new crew all the time, what with many of them dying so quickly. We had to be sure you weren't one of his."

Wendy's eyes were wide as Ace talked, unsure of how to respond.

"Er, quite all right," She said with a shaky voice as Ace let go of her hand finally.

"What are you all doing so far away from the camp?" Miles inquired to the Cunning Twins. They explained how Wendy had wandered away from the group after dinner, how she thought she had seen something nobody else had seen, and it almost carried her over the cliff before John intervened.

"Sapphires!" Tootles cried before anybody could stop him. Miles was ready with a retort, but Ace held out his hand.

"Peter wants everyone back near the Underhome. We have to go now-"

"Not until you tell us what happened to Hicks and Edwin." It was Phil who interrupted Ace, who looked directly at John.

"You weren't supposed to say anything. Peter won't like this."

"Then to hell with Peter!" Shouted Phil again, pushing his brothers protesting arms out of his way.

"You're out of line, Phil!" Yelled Ace, placing his palm on the handle of his sword.

Miles had his own sword drawn, while both Cunning Twins each had a weapon in hand. Tootles bounced over to the twins side, fumbling in his pockets for his slingshot, and the energy of a fight appeared on the horizon. John stood in front of Wendy and Michael, but did not have his weapon drawn. Ace glared into the eyes belonging to Phil, stunned by his newfound courage to speak his mind. He did not want to fight his friends, nor did anybody else forced to watch. Their enemy lay across the Neverland in a ship. Their goal the abolishment of all pirates from the island. These were Peter's goals, Peter's wishes and Peter's demands, and Ace loved and respected his leader enough to try to heal these wounds the lost boys were feeling at the moment.

"They're dead, Phil. Killed by the man you and I both know we must stop. There was too much happening when we returned, Thomas's health was the priority. Pockets is a new recruit, he couldn't be trusted." Said Ace, now looking around for the boy Pockets. "Say, where is Pockets?"

"He was just here a second ago!" The Twins split up to look, Ace ran for the campsite followed by Wendy, Michael and John, but he was nowhere to be found. Tootles caught up to the group moments later, holding a split in his side and grabbing Ace by his sleeve.

"Here! Over here!" He ran with the boys close on his trail to the beginning of the Autumn Forest where a series of branches had broken. Miles inspected the tracks in the dirt, and concluded with Tootles' theory that they had belonged to the boy Pockets.

"He's escaped."


End file.
